


Mother of Invention

by trebleclefable



Category: Hoshi no Kaabii | Kirby: Right Back at Ya!, Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Canon - Anime, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Galacta Knight can be a little evil. as a treat, Galacta Knight is female, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Parenthood, Partner Betrayal, adoptive dad Meta Knight, brief non-graphic childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trebleclefable/pseuds/trebleclefable
Summary: In the sleepy Pupu Village, everyone has their own way of celebrating Mother’s Day. Kirby joins Fumu and Bun in preparing the best Mother's Day breakfast ever, while Sirica and Knuckle Joe reminisce with Meta Knight about their fallen friends and family. Unfortunately, King Dedede can’t go even a day without being the center of attention, and orders a Demon Beast to … shake things up a bit. When Dedede orders the Demon Beast to impersonate the mothers of the village - and some outside the village - will Kirby and his friends realize it in time to stop him?What could have been only a semi-unusual day in Dream Land quickly spirals out of control as the truth of Kirby’s origin is suddenly revealed, raising more questions than answers.Galacta Knight-centric. All characters anthropomorphized.
Relationships: Galacta Knight/Meta Knight, Galacta Knight/Sir Arthur, Knuckle Joe's Father/Meta Knight
Comments: 49
Kudos: 100





	1. Mother's Day, Part 1 (Dedede)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated entirely to my preteen/teenage self and will be as cringey and self-indulgent as I want it to be.
> 
> Everyone is anthropomorphized, partly because I can't convincingly write puffballs but also because this is my party and I get to write the humans.

**DEDEDE**

* * *

It’s a gorgeous morning in Pupu Village, and you’re woken by the sound of birdsong and laughter. Light filters through the window, hitting you square in the face.

“Shut up,” you groan loudly. “Argh, I said _shut up!_ _Escargon! Close the curtains! ESCARGON!_ ”

Nothing happens.

You groan again and roll out of bed, stomping hard on the floor with each step. Little brats. Who gets up this early anyway? You look at the clock and scowl. It’s half past ten.

Well, you aren’t going back to sleep now. You drag yourself down to breakfast, grumbling the entire way, and shove into your mouth whatever slop the Waddle Dees made today. Escargon is still nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one is; aside from the Waddle Dees, you’re completely alone. What gives?

You leave the dishes for the servants and stomp through the halls. “Escargon! Escargon?” No one answers. As you pass the suite belonging to Meta Knight and his squires, you hesitate outside the door; if you listen carefully, you think you can hear the voices of those little alien brats, Knuckle Jeff and Silvia, or whatever their names are. Weird. How often do they usually visit? You harrumph and keep going. You know where Meta Knight is, at least.

Escargon’s room is on the other side of the castle, requiring more of a trek than you appreciate, and you’re breathing hard when you finally arrive outside his door. “Escargon!” you roar. “Open up!”

To your shock, he doesn’t. You hear his muffled shout through the wall: “I’m busy!”

“I _know_ you’re busy, open up! I don’t care!”

Again, nothing happens. “I’m writing a letter! Go away!”

That little -- how dare he deny his king! You fume and pound on the door for a few minutes, to no avail. Argh! You consider just hammering the door down, but instead spin around and march down the hall. You’ll get back at him for this.

As you walk and sulk, the smell of cooking food drifts through the air, catching your attention. Sure, you just ate, but _this_ smells fantastic, and you hurriedly chase after it until you find its source: the Prime Minister’s suite.

You bang on the door. “Hey. Hey! What’re you cooking?”

A moment later, Prime Minister Parm cracks open the door and stutters in surprise, “Your Majesty! What do you need?” You can hear his brats further inside, but don’t see them.

“What’re you cooking?” you demand. “Tell me!”

Parm seems baffled. “Pancakes and omelettes, for my wife. For Mother’s Day,” he explains.

“Mother’s Day?! Is that why everyone is busy?”

Parm shifts slightly at the door, making sure to block your view of the inside of the suite. He’s hiding something. Probably Kirby. “Yes, your Majesty. I suppose everyone is spending today with their mothers.”

You scoff and head off, not bothering to give him a goodbye. Parm gives a distinct sigh of relief before the door clicks shut.

Mother’s Day, what bull. Why should mothers get their own day? They have such an easy job! What are they being celebrated for? Really, it’s you who does the hard work. You should get a day dedicated to yourself. If anyone deserves it, you do.

You rub your chin thoughtfully. Maybe you could… redirect today’s attention toward you. You can see it now: the mothers of the village spoiling you with their best homemade cooking, cleaning the castle to spotlessness, waiting on you hand and foot. _That’s_ what mothers are _supposed_ to do. And if you don’t have a mom, well, you’ll borrow some.

You rush downstairs to your throne room and leapt into the chair, slamming your fist on the NME button. The tv sparks to light as it comes down from the ceiling, and Customer Service grins his best obnoxious grin at you.

“Your Majesty!” he exclaims. “Happy Mother’s Day! I’ve never seen you up so early before!”

“Shut up!” you snap. “This Mother’s Day is stupid. I want something to make those idiots spoil _me_ instead. And I don’t got a mom to spoil me, so I want theirs!”

Customer Service gives you a look that is equal parts amused and sardonic. “That’s quite a request, your Majesty. But I think I have just the thing.”

The transporter sparks to life, electricity crackling and lights flashing as a figure materializes on the platform. “This,” Customer Service announces, “is Mimickie: a shapeshifting Demon Beast that will take on the form of anyone’s loved ones, or, if you tell it to, their mothers.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” you thunder. The Demon Beast isn’t much to look at now. A featureless, vaguely humanoid figure, with nothing more than a head, trunk, and appendages. Its face is blank, which unnerves you, so you try not to look. “Listen here! I want the mothers of the village to serve _me_ today! Go get them, and take their places!”

The Demon Beast sort of wobbles for a moment, then lurches off the transporter platform and out of the throne room. As the doors bang shut behind it, Customer Service clears his voice. “I’m glad you’re happy with our service today. Now, if we could discuss the matter of payment…”

“Oh, hell, shut up, you!” you wave him off. “Don’t you know this is my day! Stop raining on my parade!”

You have to admit, though, this is a good Demon Beast. NME have really outdone themselves as, by the end of the hour, you have exactly what you wanted, and you lean back in your chair in contentment as Lady Memu gently sets a honeyed snack in front of you, Hana drapes a blanket over your legs, and Honey and Iro’s mothers clean your things and clothes. Yes, _this_ is how Mother’s Day should be spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this chapter is likely the weakest, because... Dedede. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Subsequent chapters are stronger.


	2. Mother's Day, Part 2 (Fumu)

**FUMU**

* * *

It isn’t until breakfast dissolves into utter disaster that you notice something might be wrong.

Somehow, you, Bun, Kirby, and your Dad manage to cook Mom’s favorite meal, without taking casualties. Well, the bacon is a bit burned, perhaps, and the omelette a bit… structurally unstable, but considering the cooks, that’s good enough. Kirby thankfully hasn’t devoured everything in sight yet - you made sure to feed him earlier when you brought him over - and Bun restrained himself from setting anything on fire. Altogether, a success in your mind.

As you pile the food onto a plate for your mother, you glance back at the kitchen. It’s a total mess, pots and pans everywhere, food batter pasted onto the countertops and even the ceiling, somehow… You sigh. Is this what Mom deals with every day? 

But before the cleanup comes breakfast, and you turn back to the food, making an additional plate for yourself. Kirby, Bun, and Dad join you with their plates, and you all proudly march out of the kitchen to where Mom is patiently waiting at the table.

“Oh, darling!” she exclaims. Her grin is a little forced. “This looks…very nice!”

Not a great sign. You gesture to her plate. “We got you some fruit, too. In case anything else is burned.”

“Yes, thank you, dear,” Mom snaps, cutting you off. “Now give me my food.”

You’re a bit too surprised to protest, and hand it to her without comment. Maybe she’s just hangry. 

Everyone settles into their chairs and their food, and for a moment the sound of chewing predominates the table. Your mother initially merely pokes at her food, a scowl on her face. You look away, deliberately staring at your own food. Your mother takes a bite of the omelette, and, just as Dad is asking if she likes it, she turns and spits it back out onto the plate.

“Why, I _never!_ ” she shouts. “This is the worst food I have _ever_ tasted! I might think you’re all trying to poison me!”

You all stare at her in stunned silence. You don’t think the food is _that_ bad. 

Your mother, evidently, does think it’s that bad. She stands up, brandishing her fork and knife in either hand, and pounds her fists against the table. In a voice louder than you’ve ever heard her, she bellows, “I do _so much_ for you, and you can’t even cook me a decent breakfast! You’re all so ungrateful! Lazy! I have half a mind to walk out right now and never come back!” 

Your Dad kicks into gear. “Now, sweetheart, calm down a moment,” he tries, holding his hands up placatingly. “There’s no need for that.” You see Bun on the verge of tears, and it’s a struggle for you not to cry as well. You couldn’t have done that badly?

“Calm down! CALM DOWN?! I DO SO MUCH FOR YOU! INGRATES! YOU ALL DESERVE A GOOD SMACK! COME HERE!” 

The table erupts into chaos. Mom takes your Dad by the ear, screeching like a banshee all the while, and Bun ducks under the table. You leap out of your chair and rush to hold Kirby, and, as you do -- are Mom’s eyes… a little red?

 _This_ is when you start to realize something is out of place. Mom has _never_ spanked or hit you, or called names. Something is wrong with your Mom.

As you’re trying to think what to do, your Mom continues to escalate. She slams her plate against Dad’s head, and tosses her chair across the room. You grab Bun and Kirby by the hands and quickly usher them to the living room. 

When you turn back to look at your mother, you don’t recognize her anymore. Literally. Whoever this woman is, she isn’t your mother. Her eyes turn bright red and she roars at you, and you realize --

“It’s a Demon Beast!” 

You shove Bun and Kirby out the door, narrowly avoiding getting body-slammed by the monster as it throws itself at you. You can hear your Dad follow you into the hall, vaulting over the Demon Beast before it has a chance to stand back up.

“What happened to Mom?!” Bun asks, struggling to keep pace with you. You pull him along insistently. 

“I don’t know, but Dedede does!” He was at the door earlier today, wasn’t he? It has to be him. Argh, that horrible little -- overgrown toddler -- why did he always have to ruin everything?! 

The castle is truly a bit of a labyrinth, and you and your family know it far better than the Demon Beast does. Within minutes, it’s lost you, and you urge your family in the direction of Dedede’s chambers. Along the way, you hear some sort of -- caterwauling, is the only way you can describe it, echoing down the hall. 

Bun does a double-take. “Is that _Escargon_ making that noise?” You grimace. It certainly sounds like it.

The wailing grows louder as Dedede’s favorite lickspittle rounds the corner, tears gushing from his eyes like a faucet. “Hold on!” you put your hands up in a way similar to how Dad did to the Demon Beast before it erupted. “Escargon! What happened?”

Escargon stops running, but continues to sob. He looks so… slimy, his entire face grossly wet with tears and mucus… ew.

“That jerk!” he crows. “That nasty, mean, evil jerk! My mother knocked on my door while I was writing her a letter and I was so happy, but it wasn’t her!”

“It was a Demon Beast,” you guess. 

Escargon nods. “Mhm! She said such mean things, and tried to attack me! My mother’s not like that at all! This must be Dedede’s doing! This is low, even for him!”

“What is Dedede’s doing?” a familiar voice calls out. You smile. Meta Knight, Sword, and Blade appear around the corner. Knuckle Joe and Sirica follow closely behind. They’d arrived in the village last night, a quick detour on their way to investigate rumors of a Demon Beast a planet over. It’s unfortunate that _this_ is what they get to deal with during their short visit.

It takes a moment for Escargon to quiet down enough to speak over him. When you can be heard, you say, “There’s a Demon Beast impersonating our mothers and going ballistic! We’re going to face Dedede and make him tell us what he did with our mom!”

Knuckle Joe seems a little put off. “That’s pretty messed up,” he mutters, crossing his arms. You can’t help but agree, though it’s besides the point. Everything Dedede does is messed up.

“Are any of you hurt?” Meta Knight asks, carefully looking Kirby over. You must all look a mess.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Alright. Let’s go, then.”

Dedede’s suite is the largest in the castle, taking up half a floor by itself. When you arrive, you aren’t sure what you expect to see, but it isn’t Dedede reclining in his chair, surrounded by several women -- your mother, Hana, and Honey and Iro’s moms -- looking haggard but waiting on him hand and foot. Your mom lights up when you all come into view in the doorway.

“Darling!” she calls, and _that_ sounds like your mother. She drops the huge feathered fan she was cooling Dedede with, and rushes over.

“Mom!” your family cries in unison, pulling her into a group hug. You all talk over each other -- “I’m so glad you’re safe!” “What happened?!” “Are you okay?” “Why are you covered in food, dear?”

Escargon shuffles around your group hug until he’s facing the king, and points an accusatory finger. “How could you?! Ruining everyone’s Mother’s Day, and making them take care of you! This is a new low, your Majesty!”

Dedede guffaws, and you just want to punch his smug mug. “I should be the one being celebrated and appreciated! This is a stupid holliday! It should be about me!” 

You aren’t even shocked. Today, you don’t feel the need to explain to an overgrown toddler why Mother’s Day is so important. Instead, you demand, “Where’s the Demon Beast? What did you order?”

Dedede chuckles. “Good question! Mimickie, put them in their place!”

Quicker than you can think, the fake-Mom darts into the room, and hurls a lamp in your direction. You duck, shoving Bun aside. Escargon lunges at the Demon Beast, and you aren’t really sure what his plan is, but he stops in his tracks when the monsters quickly shifts into _his_ mother instead. 

“That’s a dirty trick!” you snap, but it doesn’t really matter. Sirica and Knuckle Joe have stepped forward, eager to join the fight.

“Sirica, wait --” 

Sirica looks back, her hand already drawing her gun, distracted by Meta Knight’s warning, and you suddenly realize: this could get a lot worse. Escargon’s mom isn’t very threatening, the Demon Beast not able to do much more than grapple with Escargon, but Sirica’s mother? A GSA soldier like Garlude?

You have to do something. The Demon Beast throws something again -- a dustpan, this time -- and your reaction is instinctive. “Kirby, inhale it!”

“No, Kirby! Stop!” Meta Knight shouts.

But Kirby is already doing what you ordered, sucking up the dustpan and transforming into Cleaning Kirby in a burst of light. The Demon Beast grins horribly, and not even Escargon’s sweet mother could make those jagged teeth look unthreatening. The sight of it makes your veins turn to ice, all along your spine. The Demon Beast takes a good look at Kirby, and transforms. 

A tall, armored figure bursts forth from the shape of Escargon’s mother. There is a _thud_ and a sickening crunch as a heavy shield smashes into Kirby’s side, and he crumbles to the floor. Time seems to slow, and you can’t make sense of what you’re seeing: Meta Knight leaping forward in front of Kirby, swinging Galaxia at a woman you’ve never seen before. She catches Galaxia against a long, vicious lance. They struggle against each other for a moment, and you notice the woman has a mask like Meta Knight’s -- save, hers has a long vertical opening as well, and is topped with two golden horns that curl around her head like a halo. Her eyes burn crimson. You can’t catch your breath. Who is that? Who is that? Who is that? Her white armor shines blindingly bright, inlaid with delicate gold trimming and intricate designs, fashioned almost in the style of ancient gladiators you’ve seen in books. Underneath, her tunic and skirt are a dark magenta. Feathered wings sprout from her back. Her braided hair is the same rose color as Kirby’s.

It can’t be. It can’t be. It just isn’t possible. Kirby doesn’t have a mother.

The two knights lock weapons only for a moment before they separate, and if time was slow before, it isn’t quick enough now; the sheer speed that Meta Knight and the woman move with -- jab dodge strike feint parry jab block strike strike strike strike -- disorientates you. It’s _supernatural_. You didn’t know Meta Knight could even _move_ this fast. Dedede can barely stumble out of their way as they cross blades or shield again, and the _clang clang clang_ of metal on metal rattles your bones. 

Besides Meta Knight, Sirica is the first to make sense of what’s happening. The moment the knights’ fight takes them several paces further into the room, Sirica flings herself forward, scooping Kirby out of harms’ way. The distraction breaks you out of your trance, and you turn to Knuckle Joe. “Joe! You have to help Meta Knight!” you shout.

Joe already has his fists up, but remains rooted to the spot. You can see the indecision visibly twisting his face. “They’re moving too fast and too close. If I attack I’ll hit Meta Knight!”

“The _villagers! Move them!_ ” Sirica snaps, and Joe, Sword, and Blade leap into action: Sword and Blade to the Cappies, and Joe to your family. You realize Meta Knight is trying to force the fight into a corner, away from all the bystanders; not that he’s having much success there, as the woman does not give ground easily, putting her full weight and the force of her wingbeats behind her shield. It’s almost -- _beautiful_ , watching the two of them fight, absolute masters of their craft, and you force your gaze away in a conscious effort to not be entranced again. 

“Come on!” Joe roars, throwing a Vulcan Punch over the knights’ heads as a distraction. “Go! Go go go go!” Hanna, Iro and Honey’s mothers rush from the room, Escargon and Dedede close behind them. Your father takes you by the hand and pulls, meaning to follow, when you hear some kind of thud and a hair-raising _squelch_ behind you. 

“Don’t look!” Joe warns, but it’s too late. You look, and you wish you hadn’t. 

“My Lord!” Sword and Blade shout, and you hear a note of hysteria in their voices you’ve never heard before. You don’t feel hysterical. You feel downright _dreamy_. Because this must be a dream. 

This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It can’t be. Meta Knight gasps and shudders, the woman’s lance deep in his gut, cutting through his armor like paper. She grunts and shoves forward, and suddenly you see the weapon’s tip break out from Meta Knight’s back. Galaxia clangs to the floor, Meta Knight instinctively holding the lance with shaking hands as if to hold it in place.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

Suddenly, Sirica foists Kirby’s limp and bloody body into your arms -- you almost recoil, he’s cold and and wet and unnaturally flexible -- and shoots a burst of bullets straight into the woman’s mask. She staggers at most, literally shaking off the hit, but it’s enough for Meta Knight to stumble back, lance in his hands and through the middle of his body, taking her weapon with him. 

There is an odd, sudden moment of silence, stillness, _peace_ that the utter shock brings: for less than a heartbeat, no one moves as Meta Knight finally collapses to his knees. And then, eager to seize the opportunity, Sword lunges and drives his weapon into the Demon Beast’s wing, and Knuckle Joe throws a flurry of jabs. The woman shrieks, caught between the two of them, and desperately smashes her shield against Sword’s extended arms, sending his weapon flying from his hands. Through the commotion, Blade slips behind Meta Knight and drags him away, inadvertently bringing the lance with them and further out of the Demon Beast’s reach. 

Weaponless, beset on all sides and howling with rage, the Demon Beast raises her free hand in the air, pointing toward the ceiling. A long line of golden daggers materializes out of the air, and you have barely a moment to react before one comes flying at you. You drop into a kneel, struggling to hold Kirby without hurting him more. Sirica drops and rolls, avoiding one dagger and somehow managing to shoot another off its course from hitting Blade and Meta Knight. Knuckle Joe and Sword, being much closer and empty-handed, are less lucky, and you gasp as they both take hits: Sword in the hip, and Joe through the forearm. 

The Demon Beast, free for the moment of her two immediate attackers, dashes forward, and picks Galaxia up off the floor. 

You don’t know if what happens surprises you. Galaxia glows blinding, and you realize -- realize -- 

The Demon Beast screams, but you can barely hear it over the overwhelming crackling and thunder of electricity. You can’t watch, can’t look directly into the light, but quickly you smell burning hair and flesh. After what seems to be a handful of moments, the Demon Beast drops Galaxia, before falling to the floor as well, and tendrils of smoke curl leisurely off of it and into the air. The figure it leaves behind is -- different. As if the bolt from Galaxia melted off the Demon Beast's features, hair, and clothes: a vague, faceless humanoid shape. Maybe this is what it naturally looks like.

“Is it over?” you whisper, afraid to break the sudden silence. _Can I wake up now?_

It is over, but the nightmare doesn’t end, as the aftermath of the battle is almost as chaotic and tense as the battle itself. Kirby is taken from your arms, and Sirica sends you sprinting to the village for Dr. Yabui. Once you fetch him, they do not allow you back inside. Despite your protests, your parents take you and Bun home, and you do not see Kirby or Meta Knight for a number of days.

* * *

An illustration of my Galacta Knight can be found [here!](https://askgalactaknight.tumblr.com/post/611270202654638080/surprise-bitch-i-bet-you-thought-youd-seen-the)


	3. Necessity (Galacta Knight)

**GALACTA KNIGHT**

* * *

You knew, going in, that it would hurt. But what did that matter to you? To you, avenging angel, legendary demigod, our powerful Lady of the Stars? What’s more, this was a hurt that countless others have undergone and survived, a mundane part of life. You, the most powerful warrior in the known universe, had been through horrors and trials unlike that of which anyone else had ever known, had endured hurts innumerable. In comparison, this was not so unbearable. 

All the same, childbirth was a painful, brutal thing, and worse, you were alone, your only midwife the peaceful quiet of the Fountain of Dreams. It was misery, but you chose this, and even being alone was still better than its alternative; you knew you could never tolerate anyone witnessing you in such a humiliating, agonizing state. 

When the ordeal was finally done, you groaned and let your arms give up holding your weight, collapsing limply onto your back and wings and dropping fully into the shallow pool with a small splash. The reflection of the ripples sent glimmering, dancing rainbow lights across the marble minarets that circled the Fountain, and under the lights and the stars your baby gasped loudly and screamed. You allowed it, for a moment, before gathering the strength to sit up -- wincing at the sharp pain in your abdomen -- and scooped their little body out of the shallow water. 

They wriggled and bleated in your grasp, such a tiny little thing, and you washed the remnants of birth from their skin and held them close for warmth. They calmed somewhat then, their piercing cries turning to sniffles and whines, though they were still clearly distraught from the ordeal. For your part, you didn’t feel anything other than exhaustion, relief at the whole process finally being over. Even holding them, this life you created, you didn’t feel much. And blessedly, too. You seemed spared that self-consuming, oppressive love that mothers were supposed to have by instinct. Of course, you spent your entire pregnancy alienating yourself from them, reminding yourself of what you needed to do, and to not get too attached to a baby you could never keep.

 _But maybe in other circumstances, keeping it wouldn’t have been so bad_ , you thought, as your baby blearily opened their big eyes. They shone a gorgeous blue, unlike your dark wine-red. You schooled yourself against loving this little creature, but even still, you weren’t sure quite how long you spent just… looking at them, studying their face. Maybe that was a mistake. But you couldn’t quite help being captivated, for if they didn’t have your eye color, they did have your eye _shape_ \-- and nose, and brow, their wispy hair was as rose-colored as yours, and in truth they looked just like you. Hopefully, they would be powerful like you, too.

Eventually, your baby quieted, and closed its blue eyes as they were overtaken by sleep. Once the Fountain of Dreams had healed the worst of your pain and injuries from birth, and you were able to break from your reverie, you slowly stood and stepped out of the shallow pool. You wrapped your baby in soft blankets you had brought, carefully set them on one of the marble altars, and quickly dressed yourself in your silks and armor, not minding the dampness of your feathers and long hair. Truthfully, you felt more attached to your golden-horned mask than your baby, as fascinating as they were to you, and you wondered if you would have loved them if you allowed yourself. 

You took your baby back into your arms, padded back to the Fountain, where you dipped your free hand into the clear water and waited. Small, softly glowing stars of every color littered the bottom of the fountain, giving the fountain its rainbow lights and otherworldly beauty. After a few moments, one star in particular began to glimmer brighter and brighter than the others, and you plucked it from the Fountain. 

“This must be yours,” you whispered, holding up the star to examine it. Gold, and five-pointed. It didn’t tell you much about your child, truthfully. Warp Stars were enigmatic things, but all Star Warriors had one. It served as the source of their power, and, to a certain extent, their identity. 

The abilities of the individual Warp Stars tended to vary as wildly as the Star Warriors themselves; some could be flown, some couldn’t, some were weapons, but not others, and so on. Adult Star Warriors tended to hide their Warp Stars away somewhere safe, usually in some isolated Kabu stone. As you held your child’s Warp Star, you could feel the pull of your own -- burning white, four-pointed -- from the pocket dimension you had tucked it into. “Hush,” you mumbled, though quite aware that your star would do as it pleased. “This is for the baby.”

You carried them to the nearby grass, where a small, unpainted, circular starship awaited: a cradle. You carefully placed the Warp Star inside the slot made for it, and watched as the starship began to shift and change until it morphed into a reflection of the Warp Star: yellow, five-pointed. You eyed it warily; you hadn’t been in your own starship for a number of years, preferring your own wings to travel. But until -- or unless -- your child grew wings, they would live in this, grow in this, until they were old enough to pick up your mantle and take on the challenges you left behind. 

A stab of bitterness struck your heart, every beat bleeding resentment. _Your allies have betrayed you_ , whispered the stars above and below, the soft running water from the fountain. _Soon you will be dead or worse, Nightmare will be undefeated, and the galaxies will be left with mere hopes that your child will accomplish what your own friends made sure you could not_. 

You looked down to your baby, suddenly consumed by anxiety that someone from the GSA might find them. All would be lost, all would be lost. You’d completely disappeared from the war the moment your pregnancy began to show, but what if one of the traitors figured it out, if they knew anyway? You knew these were paranoid thoughts, but paranoia was the only thing keeping you alive now.

Your baby gurgled and cooed sleepily when you touched their face. “Kirby,” you whispered, and hastily blinked the tears from your eyes. Your voice trembled, and you had to clear your throat before speaking. “Grow strong for me, Kirby. Defeat Nightmare; you will be the only one who can besides me. You were born and baptized in a Fountain of Dreams, and in time you will be able to call upon the power it will lend you, and Nightmare will be powerless to stand against it.”

Kirby yawned, and you carefully wiped the rheum from their eyes and tried not to think about the suffocating bitterness coiling around your heart. Maybe in the future Kirby would make your so-called allies pay for their betrayal… but likely not. They could never know you, not as mother or legendary Star Warrior. And you could never know them. 

You inhaled shakily, trying to regain composure, and placed them snugly into the cradle. “Goodbye, Kirby, little Star Warrior.” You hesitated only briefly before giving in, and tenderly kissed their forehead. 

The starship whirred to life, and you stepped back as the glass dome closed over the capsule, separating you from your baby, and you watched stiffly as the starship wheeled toward where the edge of the fountain dropped off into the abyss of space. _This was necessary. It was the only way_ , you told yourself, and suddenly: _Don’t hate me for it, Kirby. This was the only way._ The starship retracted its wheels, wobbled and then hovered in midair, and plunged into the dark cosmos.

You were left alone, again, with only the stars and the water of the fountain. Your brief tenure as a mother was over, and it was time to return to the war. Time to face your friends, and their betrayal, and whatever fate had in store for you.

* * *

 _Necessity_ is the mother of invention.


	4. Parallax (Meta Knight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, present events are happening near the end of the series (so two years after Kirby first landed), but before the finale. From here on out (and especially next few chapters), the chronology starts getting a bit weird, though it should be obvious that present events are of course in present tense, flashbacks are in past tense, and flashbacks within flashbacks (lol) are past tense and hopefully fairly clear. Still, minor warning that we're gonna start jumping around.

**META KNIGHT**

* * *

A number of days pass before you feel well enough recovered to receive visitors. Dr. Yabui is not a surgeon, but he does a well enough job patching you up, though truthfully it is Galaxia that kept you from bleeding out on Dedede’s floor. The sword glows a little less brightly, now, and you know you used up most of its stored energy in the fight simply to keep pace with the Demon Beast. You have gone _years_ without needing to rely on Galaxia’s emergency reserves, but now it seems you will have to replenish them again.

Sword and Blade attend to you dutifully while you recover, rarely if ever leaving you alone (Sword himself needing far less medical attention than you). Though you appreciate their concern, they must know that you need solitude like you need air, and with some difficulty you negotiate a compromise: when you feel well enough to move on your own power again, you retreat to the suite’s outside balcony, while Sword and Blade remain inside. You need some time in private to reflect over the recent events and revelations.

That Kirby is the child of Galacta Knight… you sigh, wincing when the movement triggers some soreness in your abdomen. The Demon Beast had revealed some truths you would have preferred not be widely known.

You didn’t outright _lie_ to Fumu when two years ago she asked you about Kirby’s origins, at least not entirely. When you told her that Nightmare created his own Star Warrior, only for it to rebel against him, you were speaking truthfully. The lie was in the omission -- a major omission, certainly -- that the Demon Beast-turned-Star Warrior was not Kirby, but you yourself. And if you did not mention to Fumu Nightmare’s real purpose behind creating you, well, it was your secret to keep anyway.

You carefully trace your fingers over one of the false Galacta Knight’s light-form daggers that Blade had fetched for you. It is a fair imitation, at least in looks. You recall that the real Galacta Knight’s daggers were actually, truly made of light: they shone brightly, were hot to the touch, and hummed with electricity. You study the reflection of your mask in the blade, and you feel a kinship with the fake dagger; much like you, it could never amount to the real thing, a cheap counterfeit. Nightmare somehow acquired a Warp Star from a Fountain of Dreams and used it to create you, his dark Star Warrior, as his answer to the powerful Galacta Knight. But even at your best, you were nothing more than a _fair imitation_.

It was Galacta Knight who suggested you could be more than that.

You lean your back against the wall, perched lazily on the balcony parapet, your leg dangling off the side. In the courtyard far below, Kirby dives after a soccer ball that goes flying past him; Bun and the Cappy children scream with delight, and Kirby rushes to chase after the ball before it goes too far. He has recovered much more quickly than you, though even from here you can still see some bruises on his neck, barely peeking out of his shirt collar. You don’t see Fumu, Sirica, or Joe anywhere in the courtyard; likely, they will find you shortly, demanding answers. They have given you enough courtesy by allowing you to rest on your injuries for this long.

You sigh, carefully place the dagger on the parapet, and close your eyes. How much should you tell the children, when they come? You will tell them who Galacta Knight was, but will you tell them who she was to you?

* * *

You were arrogant, when you first met Galacta Knight. Arrogant, angry, afraid: proud of your prowess that you had gained through nothing less than glorified torture at the hands of the Demon Beast trainers, but also driven by a constant fear of what Nightmare would do to you if you failed him. Even when you saw Galacta Knight -- her white armor shining, golden horns a halo around her head, feathery wings outstretched, floating high above the battlefield like some vengeful god -- as she rained down a storm of light-form daggers on Nightmare’s forces, you feared Nightmare’s wrath more than you did the GSA’s legendary warrior.

After all, you were made for this. Nightmare made you for this. You were an answer to the angel knight who had become a bane of his greatest plans, you were the black hole that would swallow the galaxy’s brightest star.

Your wings still worked then. You kicked off hard from the ground and leapt into the air, dodging spears and bullets and daggers and Stars only knew what else, and took to the clouds. You wove between another wave of daggers -- these quite certainly aimed at you this time -- and met Galacta Knight nearly sixty feet above the battlefield chaos. She seemed almost affronted, her posture stiff and red eyes narrowed behind her mask, that you would dare approach her, and she drew her wicked lance.

“Flee from me, brave little knight,” she warned, readying the shield strapped to her forearm. You eyed the spike jutting out from its middle; this shield was as much for offense as it was for defense, and you would be wise to avoid it. “Or else I will kill you.”

You spared a glance towards the battle below: though Nightmare’s forces fought hard, monsters of all sizes and shapes lashing out wildly at any opponent they could reach, the GSA’s soldiers were beginning to gain the upper hand, pushing hard into Nightmare’s lines. If you could keep Galacta Knight busy long enough, maybe you could turn the tide of the battle.

“Perhaps you will,” you replied evenly, and raised your sword in a challenge. 

You climbed a few feet upwards and dove at her, to little effect; your blade hit her shield hard, but she did not so much as flinch, much less fall, and she batted you away like the nuisance you were. You charged again, this time from below, aiming to strike under her shield, and narrowly missed flying directly into her lance. You pulled off to the side at the last moment, your momentum sending you hurtling into empty air. 

Quick as lightning, Galacta Knight followed. Her hand curled around your ankle, catching you short, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. _No, not yet_ , you thought, but Galacta Knight did not oblige you. She jerked your leg down hard, and threw her lance upward at the same time. The metal pierced straight through your armor and into your side, and you gasped at the pure, blinding pain that tore through you. 

Stunned, your wings stiffened, and you did not fully realize you were falling until you were halfway to the ground, Galacta Knight’s figure above growing smaller and smaller. Impulsively, you swung your blade, and flung a massive beam of energy upwards at the Star Warrior. You spread your wings and rotated in the air, struggling to right yourself, too busy to see if your hit connected. Blood streamed freely from your side, soaking you from the pit of your arm down to your hip. You couldn’t see from here how large the wound actually was, and the adrenaline numbed you too quickly to feel for it. That was fine. You could keep going.

At only twenty feet above the ground, you finally slowed enough to control your descent, and carefully touched down on the dirt. A few Demon Beasts lunged past you -- your _‘comrades’_ \-- and you realized that you were somewhere behind your own lines. That would be to your advantage, hopefully.

You craned your face upward and attempted to shield your eyes from the sun, but it was little use. You heard and felt rather than saw Galacta Knight’s dive, heard the high-pitched whistle and felt the displacement of the air, and flung yourself away just as her lance struck the earth. You hit the ground hard, landing on your injured side, knocking the wind out of you and leaving you momentarily paralyzed with agony. You grunted -- _this_ was your best chance to attack, before she could recover and right herself from the rough landing -- and stumbled to your feet. You lurched forward, sword raised, and charged again. 

The duel went better for you on the ground than in the air, but only barely. You stabbed Galacta Knight’s shoulder as she made to stand, gritting your teeth against the harsh clang of metal against armor, and successfully knocked her off balance. You swung again, issuing another large sword beam, and this time you knew it connected as Galacta Knight bore the brunt of the hit in the chest. She staggered, and again you attacked relentlessly. Though you got a few more strikes with your sword, your opening did not last for long. Soon enough Galacta Knight recovered her footing and caught your sword in a parry, and punished you for your overzealousness. With her full weight, she slammed her shield against you, again knocking the air out of you. You stumbled back and lifted your sword in a weak block, barely knocking aside her lance from stabbing you in the throat. You weren’t so lucky the next hit, though, and Galacta Knight jabbed her lance hard into your lower abdomen. You dropped to your forearms and knees, your head hanging, and this time, you did not stand back up.

“That was well done, little knight,” Galacta Knight praised. You did not yet open your eyes, bracing yourself for the killing blow. “But that is enough.”

You did not open your eyes; you were bleeding so heavily that the ground under you was turning to a slick mud, and you let out a shuddering wheeze. Something was hanging out of your stomach, but you knew better than to look.

Galacta Knight took your chin in her hand, forcing your head up. You felt a knot of dread in your throat as you met her burning gaze -- Galacta Knight was not known to toy with her defeated opponents, but maybe you had angered her enough to do so. Still, you stared at her, or, at her mask, for as long as you could until you were doubled over again, groaning weakly.

Galacta Knight’s hand gripped around the base of your right wing, and you hissed in pain. Galacta Knight muttered something, you couldn’t hear what, and suddenly a warm … _pulse_ seeped into your torso, rather than the dagger you were expecting. Healing magic. She was healing you. She was healing you?

You remained as still as you could as the odd warmth spread through your body, burning at the edges of your injuries. You heard a Demon Beast shout from afar, and realized that the battle had moved some several yards away. Likely they’d fled when Galacta Knight landed. They were wiser than you.

The healing itself was… unpleasant, burning and scratching, but you didn’t have the strength to fight against it, and, truth be told, you realized you did not want to die. It was a humbling feeling. You gritted your teeth, trying not to think about how Nightmare would react to your failure. You tried not to think about how trivial it was for Galacta Knight to make moot your entire purpose for being.

“Come, now, little knight. Stand up,” Galacta Knight ordered, and pulled you up by the scruff of your collar. You floundered to your feet, suddenly unhampered by what should have been mortal injuries, and desperately grabbed for your sword. Did she want another fight? To what, mock you? Toy with you?

“No!” you gasped, almost childish in your distress. It was like training all over again; you would fight, you would lose, the trainers would heal you, you would fight, you would lose, and on and on it would go. You couldn’t bear enduring that now. “No more. _I yield_.” 

Galacta Knight released you, and raised her free hand in a gesture of surrender. The other hand still held her lance. “Okay, little knight, no more. I accept your yield. I’m not going to hurt you. See?”

You eyed her warily and said nothing. What did she want? Before, she said she would kill you, and hadn’t she just aimed her lance at your throat? 

“I accept your yield,” she said again. “You’re a very good fighter, little knight. I hate to see someone like you wasted on Nightmare. But you would not be wasted with us.” 

What… what was she implying? She couldn’t be _recruiting_ you? You remained silent. You knew well what Nightmare did to defectors. You did not want to die, but what Nightmare would do to you if he caught you fighting for the GSA would be far worse than death. Of course, Nightmare was already going to punish you for your failure, and possibly even ‘retrain’ you… You grimaced. What a poor wretch you were, that death was your least objectionable option.

“You would do better, go further, with the GSA.” She was studying you carefully, at ease but posed to defend herself should you suddenly attack. You wondered how often she extended the olive branch to Nightmare’s creatures.

“No,” you said, after some thought. “Kill me.”

But Galacta Knight did not. Instead, she tried a different tactic. “How frightened are you, that you would rather die for Nightmare than face him?”

You shifted your weight and fidgeted with your sword hilt, unsuccessfully hiding your unease. So, she saw right through you, then. 

She continued, evidently sensing your discomfort. “I will not kill you. So what will you do now? Nightmare does not treat his soldiers kindly. Even if you survive whatever he does to you, what will you do after? Are you happy, fighting his war for him? Looting towns for him? Killing innocent people for him? And if you win the war for him, do you think he’ll reward you?”

Truth be told, you’ve already asked yourself all these questions before. “So you want me to die for you instead?” you suggested. 

“No.” Galacta Knight’s red eyes burned with such intensity you almost took a step back. “I want you to _live_ for me. I want you to fight for the innocent civilians you’ve been made to kill and rob, and for the Demon Beasts still suffering under Nightmare’s control. Fight and die for something other than your own fear.”

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. You had never known a Star Warrior to express sympathy for Demon Beasts. It was unheard of. Of course, you were supposed to be a mindless, evil beast -- one that didn't mind cutting civilians in two. You gripped your sword until your hand turned bloodless.

When you finally found your tongue, you asked, “Why don't you kill me?"

Galacta Knight studied you carefully. “I can recognize my own. You’re a Star Warrior, if an… unorthodox one. I’ve met very few people as brave as you. And I think you will be brave enough for this.”

You didn’t feel brave, now that your arrogance had been stripped away. Afraid to die to Galacta Knight, afraid to live and face Nightmare, afraid to fight for anything more than whatever it took to avoid being hurt. 

When Galacta Knight spoke again, her voice was much softer, gentle even. “Come, now, little knight. You can be frightened. But you are too brave to let that stop you. You know that the best thing Nightmare has to offer you is to delay the torture for a little longer, and you know he won’t. Don’t fight for him, little knight. You deserve better than the fate he has in store for you.”

As she spoke, she extended her hand to you. You took it.

* * *

It is painful now for you to look back on who you used to be, how pitiful and terrified you were. You ache for your younger self. Galacta Knight had pitied you, too, though she certainly used your fear to her advantage. She manipulated you, you know now, calling you brave while playing on your worst fears to sway you to the outcome she wanted. Nevertheless, you cannot bring yourself to begrudge her for it. After everything that’s happened, you still don’t regret your decision.

The sun is sinking below the ocean horizon, coloring the sky all manner of oranges and pinks and purples, when the children finally come to you. “Not going to dinner?” you ask, not looking up from the dagger in your hand.

“We already ate,” Fumu answers as she sits on the balcony floor, scooting over to allow room for Sirica and Joe. Joe doesn’t sit, but leans against the parapet opposite you. Sirica takes her place next to Fumu.

“Surely dinner can’t be over already,” you murmur absently. Abruptly, you sigh and roll your shoulders. “Alright. Speak.”

Joe carefully studies you in a way that makes him resemble his father far too much. “You already know why we’re here.”

“Yes.” You close your eyes. “Galacta Knight.”

“Was that Kirby’s mother?” Fumu asks first.

You don’t yet open your eyes. “Yes. That is why Kirby is so powerful, despite his young age.” Behind your eyelids, you see Galacta Knight floating high above a battlefield, raining down hell on Nightmare’s forces. You add, “That is why I believe Kirby can defeat Nightmare. That he is the only one who can.”

You hear Joe fidgeting with the bandages around his hand. “Was this Galacta Knight really that strong? We couldn’t even beat the fake version, even with all of us.”

“Stronger,” you answer. “Galacta Knight was the most powerful warrior to ever live. She was the GSA’s greatest general and asset in our war against Nightmare. Galaxia would not have killed Galacta Knight like it did the Demon Beast, had she tried to wield it.”

Joe scoffs. “What happened to her then? If she was so strong, why couldn’t _she_ beat Nightmare?”

Now you open your eyes, turn your head ever so slightly to look at them. You don’t know how to answer this question, but you must try. “I don’t know all the details,” you begin hesitantly, “Galacta Knight was betrayed by some of our own, some Star Warriors who thought she was too powerful to be trusted.” 

“But why? That doesn’t make any sense,” Fumu objects. “Wasn’t she on the good side? Why would they be afraid of her?”

You’ve asked yourself the same questions many times before... and you give them the same answer you keep coming back to. “Galacta Knight… made some difficult choices about how the war would be fought. Some people thought she was too ruthless.”

Sirica frowns, blatant skepticism in the deep furrow of her brows. “Ruthless enough to throw away their best weapon against Nightmare?”

“Yes. That was the question, if Galacta Knight was more valuable than she was dangerous. The war was nearly over, and Nightmare nearly defeated, when the conspirators decided that she was no longer necessary.” You grimace. “The moment she was gone, the war turned against us. Without Galacta Knight we lost, and badly.”

The air hangs heavy with silence as the children digest this new information. Finally, Fumu speaks up. "How long have you known she was Kirby's mother?"

"I've suspected it for a long time. I didn't know for sure until Mother’s Day."

"You didn't know when she was pregnant?" Sirica objects. 

"No." You shift your weight on the parapet, pulling your cape out from where you had been sitting on it. Now free, the fabric tosses in the wind like a flag. "I never knew she was pregnant in the first place. Galacta Knight became extremely paranoid and secretive in the last year before she disappeared. I believe she knew she was going to be betrayed, though not by whom."

Knuckle Joe catches your particular choice of words. "She just disappeared? Do you know what happened to her? Is she still alive?"

"I don't know," you admit. "Nobody knows, save for the conspirators. And no one knows who _they_ are except the conspirators themselves. It's more than likely they perished in the war with the rest of the Star Warriors, and the secret of Galacta Knight’s fate perished with them."

Outrage settles on Fumu’s features. You don’t blame her. “Didn’t the rest of the GSA look for her? Was there no investigation?”

“Of course there was. Most of the GSA supported Galacta Knight. But nothing came of it. It’s likely that the conspirators were quite highly-ranked themselves, and that fact alone caused a great deal of suspicion and in-fighting between the Star Warriors. Nightmare used our discord to his advantage, and further divided us by playing us against each other.”

“Willingly or not,” Joe murmurs, his fingers tight on his father’s amulet. 

You nod, abruptly feeling exhaustion sweep over you. You have not shared the half of it -- nor do you plan to -- and already this conversation has drained you. “In the future, I plan to search for her again. But for now, I will stay with Kirby until his training is finished.” 

Fumu stands, perhaps recognizing your limits have been reached. “I have one more question. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Nightmare knows that Kirby is a powerful Star Warrior,” you begin hesitantly. “He does not know -- or, _did_ not know -- that Kirby was born from the most powerful Star Warrior to ever live.”

“So now Nightmare will target him even more than before,” Sirica finishes. She’s studying the dagger in your hands intensely, and for a moment you debate handing it to her. It has little tangible use for you. Do you need a physical reminder so badly? Or would it be better to get rid of it? You clutch the dagger's hilt, somewhat taken by surprise how reluctant you are to part with it.

"Yes. The Demon Beasts Nightmare now sends are already much stronger than the ones Kirby when he first landed two years ago. No doubt they will only continue to become more dangerous."

The worried furrow of Fumu's brows only increases, and she unknowingly begins wringing her hands. It occurs to you once more that Fumu is far too young for all of this, for Nightmare and war and Galacta Knight and the potential of death on the horizon, but it is a little late now. She needs to know. It would be massively unfair of you to shield her now. Besides, you need someone you can trust to look out for Kirby, and despite her young age, she has repeatedly proven her trustworthiness in that regard.

Joe puts a friendly arm around Fumu's shoulder. "Don't worry! Sirica and I will look out for Nightmare's worst monsters. We'll destroy them long before they can get to Kirby."

"Yeah," Sirica joins, pulling herself to her feet. "We're all together in this."

Standing next to each other like this, encouraging one another, Joe and Sirica look and sound so much like their respective parents that you flinch, the recognition and memory stinging like a wound. Brave and selfless soldiers, just like their parents. You wish it could be otherwise. You vow that they will not meet the same fate.

Distantly, you wonder if Kirby will remind you so much of Galacta Knight. You don't think you could bear the constant reminder; if looking at Joe and Sirica stings, Kirby will be your death of a thousand cuts. And yet…

The dagger gleams back at you, elegant and familiar and fake. An impressive, but lacking, reproduction. Like you. Like Kirby. You can't bring yourself to discard it.

A smile returns slowly to Fumu's face, her anxiety eased. "Thanks, you two. And thank you, Sir Meta Knight. We'll let you rest now. Please get well soon." 

They leave you, and suddenly the silence and the empty space is terribly obtrusive. If you allow yourself to be foolish, you can imagine Galacta Knight next to you on the parapet, legs hanging off the side, and her wings extended wide to enjoy the feel of wind through the feathers. You can almost _hear_ her voice, her confident and clear tone or even her rare laughter. 

Such ghosts you had banished long ago, and the mournful ache in your chest and in your throat and twisting through the injuries in your gut, reminds you why. Jecra and Garlude you know, painfully well, are dead. And though you miss them, regret their ends and even agonize over your active part in it, you at least have… closure. You watched them die. 

But Galacta Knight had simply vanished, and the foolish, stubborn little voice in your head -- your heart, more like -- can’t help but whisper: How could such a powerful, peerless Star Warrior be killed? Surely it isn't out of the realm of possibility that she survived. If you, the cheap imitation, could survive the war, then certainly Galacta Knight could as well. The ghost of her on the parapet could someday be real.

But these are such fruitless, masochistic thoughts. You slide off the parapet and onto the balcony proper, and finally rejoin your knights inside, dagger hanging from your belt as if it belonged. 

* * *

Parallax

Noun: the effect whereby the position or direction of an object appears to differ when viewed from different positions, e.g. through the viewfinder and the lens of a camera.


	5. By The Sword (Knuckle Joe's Father)

**KNUCKLE JOE’S FATHER (JECRA), POSTHUMOUS**

* * *

The Galaxy Soldier Army survived a handful of years without Galacta Knight to lead the fight against Nightmare. A war that had gone on for thousands of years, drawing to such an abrupt end. Worse, it was partly _your_ fault; and _that_ would haunt you until the day you died, slain by your best friend. You guessed you deserved the irony.

Barely a decade before the demise of the GSA, you were party to one of the most dangerous and important missions in the war. Certainly the most secretive one, too. You, Sir Dragato, and the ninja Yamikage, were to join General Lady Galacta Knight in harnessing the power of all the Fountain of Dreams in a small, nearby galaxy to summon the Galactic Nova, who would give you the secret to defeating Nightmare. To say that the mission was of the utmost importance would still be an understatement. At the time, you didn’t know that the mission would not go to plan. You certainly didn’t know the ulterior motives of your comrades: that Galacta Knight be sealed away, forever and ever, amen.

You knew you were not Galacta Knight’s first choice. Yamikage came by virtue of his being such a skilled ninja and tracker; he was a natural pick. Sir Dragato was well regarded and trusted by all within the GSA’s high command. The last member ought to have been Meta Knight, Galacta Knight’s favorite choice by far, but he had been given the equally prestigious mission to retrieve the legendary sword Galaxia, and could not be pulled from his task. So, Galacta Knight had to settle for you.

At the very start of the mission, before you had even left the base, you swore that you would make Galacta Knight thankful to have brought you. What a joke _that_ turned out to be.

You accompanied Galacta Knight and her team to seven different planets and their Fountains -- having to defeat some of Nightmare’s most fearsome Demon Beasts along the way -- and watched with awe at each one as Galacta Knight harnessed their power. You remembered, at Halfmoon’s Fountain of Dreams, watching Galacta Knight step confidently into the water and wade to the spout at the center. The crystal clear water, though slightly marred by a steady stream of blood from the nearby dead Demon Beast originally sent to stop you, glittered with the light of thousands of brightly colored Warp Stars, and reflected off Galacta Knight’s white and gold armor. You held your breath when Galacta Knight placed her own Warp Star into the center spout and pressed her palm down against it, using it as a conduit to focus the Fountain’s power into herself.

“Don’t look,” Sir Dragato warned you, a bit too late, and you stumbled backward just as a blinding burst of light _erupted_ from the Fountain and enveloped your superior: the thousands of Warp Stars, combined with the power of the _six_ other Fountains and each of _their_ thousands of Warp Stars. You turned away, blinded and scorched by the blast of energy -- even through the heat you could already feel the burns and blisters on your exposed arms and ears, and you were thankful for your mask -- and after a few moments, the deafening roar died down to a dull rumble, and past the ringing of your ears you heard -- such a bizarre, alien noise, a high-pitched blaring -- millions of crunching gears, a voice that was distinctly un-alive, mechanical --

“READY >” 

“I WILL GRANT YOU ONE WISH >”

You could _hear_ it: Galactic Nova, a mythical semi-sentient star of immense power, here in front of you. You rubbed hard at your dazzled eyes, willing them to recover from the harsh light they had been blinded from. You _needed_ to see this.

Galacta Knight’s clear voice rang out. “Galactic Nova! Hear me, and obey! I wish --” 

You leapt to your feet as Galacta Knight’s words were choked from her lips. “What’s going on?” you demanded, hoping desperately that Dragato and Yamikage had been prudent enough to avoid being blinded. “General Galacta Knight!”

“Help me hold her down --“ Yamikage’s voice. What? You couldn’t make sense of it. Was Galacta Knight hurt?

You raised your shield and drew your sword, ready for whatever Demon Beast had come now. Blinded or not, you would not let Nightmare interfere with this. “Where are they?” you demanded, holding out your sword as you turned quick circles. Nothing close to you. You could hear some kind of racket, a struggle, in the water, but without guidance or sight you were a sitting duck. “Dragato, where are they? _What_ are they?”

It was a handful of minutes, at most, before your vision came back to you, and you would remember it as some of the most terrifying moments of your life. You were still trembling hard -- ready to fight, but trembling nonetheless -- when the world slowly came back into view. You almost wished it hadn’t. 

The image of Galacta Knight lying on her front in the water, limp and bleeding freely from a wound in her neck, a kunai deep in her throat and Yamikage’s foot on her back, would follow you until your end. The fountain’s water gushed with red, and Galactic Nova impassively looked on. 

“What have you done?” you whispered. You felt bile in your throat, horror curling in the pit of your stomach. Galacta Knight’s eyes glowed faintly, alive but unresponsive.

Dragato stepped in front of you, sword at the ready. “What we needed to do,” he answered grimly. “Listen --“

You couldn’t make sense of it. Couldn’t move. This was all wrong. “What have you _done?”_

“She’s too dangerous to be trusted.” Yamikage growled. “She needs to be sealed away, forever!”

Dragato blocked your attempts to advance, and you waved your sword threateningly. Were you really going to attack your fellow soldiers? Your friends? “Too dangerous?! Sealed away? She’s General Galacta Knight, she’s on our side! She’s the fucking leader of the GSA!” 

With his free hand, Dragato motioned for peace. “No. Friend, listen to us. Galacta Knight is dangerous, she is cruel, and she is too destructive.”

No. There were controversies surrounding some of Galacta Knight’s more… pragmatic actions, but not _conspiracies_. It couldn’t have come to this. “I can’t believe what’s happening -- that you would betray us, betray the whole GSA! What have you done?!”

Yamikage’s eyes glinted with conviction. He pressed his foot down harder as Galacta Knight faintly stirred. “What have _we_ done? What about what _she_ has done? She destroyed an entire planet. She murdered _millions_ of people! We cannot allow this to go on!”

You knew -- everyone knew -- that leaders had to make difficult, impossible choices, and Galacta Knight was no exception. Let a planet fall to Nightmare and his beasts, giving him a significant advantage in the war and dooming all its inhabitants to a life of slavery -- or destroy the planet, along with a huge portion of Nightmare’s army and resources, and all of its inhabitants. Galacta Knight had chosen the latter.

“Galacta Knight isn’t the only one allowed to make hard calls,” Dragato said softly. “She destroyed a planet _by herself._ She’s too dangerous.”

The horror in your gut spread to your torso and your limbs. Your amulet burned against your skin, and you realized -- what if it had been _your_ home planet? What if it had been your baby Joe amongst the millions?

The bile in your throat tasted stronger now, and you struggled not to vomit into the fountain. When Yamikage turned to face the Galactic Nova, you didn’t stop him. You felt rooted to the spot, your feet made of lead. “Hear my wish!” he shouted. “Nova, I wish Galacta Knight was gone! Sealed away, never able to escape!”

Galacta Knight shuddered. You felt the blood in your veins turn to ice as her eyes brightened briefly into wakefulness, and her gaze caught yours. The kunai wobbled in her throat. Was she trying to say something?

“OKAY > THREE, TWO, ONE, GO!”

Yamikage leapt clear. A sudden cacophony of gears, wheels, clocks, chains, and whatever else was on Nova drowned out all your thoughts. With another burst of light -- this one smaller, less blinding -- Galacta Knight vanished. 

* * *

You, Dragato, and Yamikage returned to base without Galacta Knight, and you had never felt so numb. You all reported to Sir Arthur, giving him a sanitized version of the story that blamed Nova for Galacta Knight's disappearance and implicated none of you. He took the news surprisingly calmly and quietly dismissed you to your quarters.

You were thankful that your high rank afforded you with a private room, even if it was the size of a matchbox. You didn’t think you could speak to any of your comrades right then; the world swayed beneath you, reality surreal and uncertain. What happened? Galacta Knight, the most powerful Star Warrior to ever live, was gone. The GSA’s great general betrayed in a conspiracy by her own soldiers, and _you were party to it_.

You betrayed Galacta Knight. You betrayed the GSA.

Shock left you thoughtless, and pure routine took over as you unpacked your clothes, cleaned your armor and weapons, and prepared your room to live in again. Pictures of your family, some hung on the walls and others propped up on the nightstand, stared back at you. They were alive, which was more than could be said for a lot of the civilians involved in the war.

The hour came and went, and you sat motionless on your bed, vacantly gazing at a picture of Joe. You missed dinner. That was okay. You didn’t think you could keep anything down now.

Eventually, a knock on the door startled you out of your reverie, and you jumped to your feet to answer it. You recognized Sir Nonsurat when you opened the door.

“Sir,” you said, reflexively. “How can I help you?”

Nonsurat hesitated, and squared his shoulders, the movement of a man come to give bad news. You felt a sudden tangle in your chest and throat. 

“Sir.” Nonsurat’s tone was overly formal. “I have been sent to inform you that Sir Meta Knight returned to base the night before last after a successful mission. I am sorry to inform you that he returned alone.”

Garlude.

“Oh.” It took you a handful of moments to remember how to speak again. “Thank you for telling me.”

Nonsurat nodded and politely dismissed himself. You were left staring after him, leaning your weight on the doorframe, suddenly dizzy.

Galaxia was won. Garlude was dead. Galacta Knight was gone.

Pictures of your family stared at you, and in your disoriented state you thought you could see maybe confusion or concern in their eyes. Or perhaps that was judgement. You wondered about what would happen to little Sirica, and who would tell her. Who would tell Joe, should you die as well? But at least they would be alive to be told. They would be alive to mourn Garlude, and maybe you if your time came. That was better than could be said for some, and if you died defending their world from Nightmare, then so be it.

Uninvited and unwelcome, a question forced itself into your head: By sealing away Galacta Knight, how many people had you defended from your own leader? How many lives did you save with your betrayal? Millions? Billions? Countless? As a counterpoint, were you complicit in all the deaths she'd caused until then?

You didn’t know how long you stood there, lost in thought, before you remembered: Meta Knight. You lurched from the doorway and quickly followed down the network of halls, the route instinctive, suddenly urgent in your mission. Sir Arthur would have given Meta Knight the sad news by now, much like Nonsurat for you. Meta Knight was much closer to Galacta Knight than you ever were. He would be devastated, and you couldn’t simply leave him alone to face that. Even if you were the reason for it.

You hesitated only briefly once you arrived outside his room. "Meta Knight?" you tried, knocking gently on the door. "Can I come in?" No one answered, and after waiting several minutes your anxiety got the best of you and you gingerly opened the door yourself and slipped into the room.

"Meta Knight? It's me. I'm coming in." He didn't protest or stop you. He didn't even move from where he sat in his chair, facing the window away from you. You felt your heart skip a beat. The lamplight cast odd, perfectly still shadows, worsening your sense of unease. You approached slowly, each step agonizing. "Meta Knight? Are you alright?"

Finally, Meta Knight shuddered and slumped over in his chair, and you felt yourself breathe again. You cautiously walked round him, put your hand on his back, and were about to crouch in front of him when he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and forcefully pulled you into a tight embrace, his grip like death. He pressed his face against your chest, his entire body shaking, and some animal instinct in your brain insisted that if you held him back tightly enough you could stop his trembling. The choked, heaving _sobs_ that came from your best friend put a dagger in your chest and twisted, and desperate to stop it, you cupped the back of his head with your hand and tucked him closer against you. You gently pulled and pushed against him, rocking this powerful, adult Star Warrior like you did your baby Joe whenever he cried, and murmured comforting nonsense into his dark hair.

Meta Knight’s mask glinted in the lamplight from where it sat on the nightstand. What _trust_ he had in you, to show his face, to show you his grief. You had seen his face before, of course, many times, and a bit more than that, too. But the naked _anguish_ , the high-pitched keening that spilled from his throat and the outpouring of tears that left your chest soaked, was unfamiliar, and dreadful to bear. 

You couldn’t say anything to make this right. You certainly couldn’t say what you did wrong. What could you possibly tell him? Galacta Knight was dangerous and out of control, and you allowed her to be sealed away for the greater good? Galacta Knight, the person who had plucked Meta Knight from Nightmare’s clutches, and guided him in the GSA? Meta Knight wouldn’t accept it, and didn’t deserve the heartbreak of knowing you, the person he trusted to show his face and his despair, were involved. You did not tell him.

It took a bit of time for Meta Knight to burn out, but, eventually, he did. His sobs slowly petered out, gradually losing strength to exhaustion, and his grip loosened. You gently pried his fingers from your arms, one by one, taking his hands in yours, and carefully pulled him back from your chest so that you could see him. 

Stars, he looked a mess, and it stung to see him like this. His eyes were red and sunken in, and his entire face seemed wet and almost crinkled from crying. He slumped forward, head at an angle, and stared at the floor so that he did not have to look at you. 

“Garlude is gone,” he said simply, his voice small and hoarse. “And now Galacta Knight, too.”

You held his hands tighter, but you had nothing particularly inspiring to say. “I know. We’re going to be okay.”

Meta Knight shook his head, but didn’t verbally object. “I just… never imagined. Even with this damned sword, I couldn’t --” he sniffed and gasped, trying not to cry again, and it took him a moment to recover. For the first time, you noticed a new sheath on Meta Knight’s belt, a golden hilt set with a ruby. “I could not save Garlude, even with Galaxia. And I wasn’t there to save Galacta Knight. I never even imagined Galacta Knight could…”

He trembled again, and you opened your arms to hold him, but he remained where he was. You handed him a tissue, which he accepted gratefully. “It isn’t your fault,” you murmured. It wasn’t Meta Knight’s fault, because it was _your_ fault instead. “No one thought this could happen.”

Finally Meta Knight’s reddened eyes met yours, and you were startled at the urgency in them. “Galacta Knight did, though, didn’t she?”

You couldn’t think of anything to say. “I don’t…”

“She disappeared for months,” Meta Knight reminded you. “And didn’t tell anyone why. I don’t know where she went. Arthur doesn’t know where she went. Perhaps she knew something we don't.”

It was odd, but Galacta Knight had all manner of secrets she did not reveal to others. You suspected that was partly why Dragato and Yamikage felt they couldn’t trust her. “Maybe. It sounds like she was on some kind of mission,” you suggested, wary of talking too much about Galacta Knight and her fate. “Meta Knight, we can’t do anything tonight. You should rest. I can stay with you here tonight if you like.”

You were thankful when Meta Knight nodded. Truth be told, you were nervous to leave him alone like this. And, if you were honest with yourself, you were still shaken about what had happened with Galactic Nova. You fully expected the image of Galacta Knight, throat open and bleeding, to stalk your dreams tonight. You were not disappointed. 

Neither you nor Meta Knight got much sleep that night, both of you haunted by the ghosts of your friends and your failings.

* * *

By the sword you did your work, and by the sword you met your fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates two days in a row! Woo!!!  
> Also, I know I said all the pairings were implied, but, uh, then this chapter happened. Fellas, is it gay to snuggle and comfort each other all night due to trauma?   
> Anyway, please comment if you like this so far! Comments give me life.


	6. The Company He Keeps (Sir Arthur)

**SIR ARTHUR**

* * *

The night before she left, you found Galacta Knight back in the generals' quarters, perched on her little cushioned stool in front of the bathroom vanity, brushing out her long hair. She looked far less ethereal and intimidating in her simple night clothes than in her elaborate armor, and you didn't mind the change.

"It's rude to stare at someone underdressed," she noted, her eyes catching yours in the mirror. If her facial features were a little plain, her eyes at least were uncomfortably piercing. You felt almost pinned to the wall.

But that was something you were well used to by now, and you scoffed. "We're a little beyond that. Besides, anything less than a full suit of formalwear or armor is underdressed to you." If anything, she looked _casually_ dressed. You would be willing to go to the store in the loose-fitting pants and sweater she was wearing. Of course, you knew this kind of informality was a privilege that Galacta Knight extended to very few. The kind of trust reserved only for very close companions. Guilt twisted your insides.

 _She's a vicious, merciless mass killer_ , you reminded yourself. _She may be your friend but that doesn't excuse what she's done._

Galacta Knight sniffed imperiously, turning her nose up at you. For the briefest moment, paranoia took hold and you thought she could literally smell your guilt and your treason -- but then she cracked a small smile. "Have you heard the news from Meta Knight and Garlude?" 

You snapped out of your distraction. "Erm, no." Meta Knight's room, adjacent to yours and Galacta's, had sat quiet and empty for several months, and likely would for several more. You were long accustomed to long periods of separation from friends, but you did miss his company. 

In the mirror, Galacta Knight's eyes sparkled. "They found it. They found the location of Galaxia."

Galaxia. The ageless sword forged in lightning. The sword Nightmare needed to conquer the universe. 

"Do they have it?" you whispered, as if you might shatter reality with careless volume. 

"No. Only the location. Still, that is significant progress, and now they just have to get there."

You nodded wordlessly. This was… miraculous, frankly. One of the greatest epochs of the entire war. You were, for a few moments, speechless.

It occurred to you, quietly and traitorously, that Galaxia would make Meta Knight a very, very dangerous foe to be trifled with. And that perhaps it was blasphemous and unwise for Galaxia to be wielded by a Demon Beast, no matter how much a Star Warrior he was. Nevertheless, there was little you could do about it, save keep him content and loyal as best you could.

"Well," Galacta Knight said abruptly, crossing one leg over the other and tossing her hair back over her shoulders, "I am leaving soon as well. I've decided the final person who will accompany me and in the morning we will set off."

"Who are they?" You asked, maybe a little too quickly. Should have bit your tongue, fool.

"Jecra. In addition to Yamikage and Dragato, of course." 

Jecra? That was… a surprise, and not an entirely welcome one. Jecra was a charismatic, skilled, and loyal Star Warrior -- and very likely to blow this whole thing right out of the water. You hoped Dragato could handle him diplomatically. 

At this point, you were quite thankful you had not taken off your helmet yet. This was not an easy scene to perform. "Interesting choices," you replied impassively.

Galacta Knight turned toward you, wry bemusement written in her quirked brow and lips, and you felt your heart stop. Did you misspeak? "Do you object?"

"No," you answered, passing up your chance to attempt to fix this problem before it started. None of this would work if Galacta Knight had any inkling of it. Besides, you weren't involved… technically. Your only part was to remain silent. "Yamikage makes sense, and I suppose Dragato does, too. I had expected to have Jecra here, though."

"Well, I am only borrowing him for a short time, and then you will have him back."

"Yes," you cleared your throat. "That's fine. This mission takes priority."

Galacta Knight returned her attention to the vanity, fiddling with one of the many mysterious bottles there. "So it does."

An odd moment of quiet passed, and you weren't sure what it meant. But you weren't used to this kind of … hesitation, if that was what it was, from Galacta Knight. You were careful not to speak, maybe instinctively trying not to startle her like some wild animal.

Finally, Galacta Knight stood and faced you fully, and you felt somehow a little caught off guard. More direct, literally and physically, than you expected. "After this, I'll see you again, Arthur. I promise you that."

The guilt in your gut felt like an ulcer, horribly painful and obtrusive. Your smile was stretched, and again you were endlessly thankful for your helm. _Do not forget that this woman is evil. Do not forget that this woman is evil._ "I know you will," you said, because that was what you always said. "I never doubt that."

There was something… unnerving in Galacta Knight's impassive expression. Something maybe predatory. Or you were terribly paranoid. 

"I ought to go to bed," she announced, finality in her tone. You knew a dismissal when you heard one. "Goodnight, Sir Arthur."

You ducked your head in a bow and stepped obligingly out the door. "Goodnight, Lady Galacta Knight."

* * *

Chaos blossomed and raged in the wake of Galacta Knight’s disappearance, and you were privileged -- and condemned -- to be granted, with a sudden promotion to leader of it. You weren’t sure if you merited it, either as punishment or reward. You tried not to think what Galacta Knight would have thought of it, especially when the war turned for the worse, but you knew anyway: this was your just reward, as a traitor deserved. 

After thousands of years of struggle, the war was nearly finally in hand, or so it seemed. Nightmare had been beaten into a corner, forced to withdraw from all his bases save his home fortress and abandon his stratagems and commercial enterprise across all galaxies. But the danger that Nightmare posed did not decrease as his losses increased; in contrast, Nightmare’s decision to gather all his monsters back to his home base made assaulting the fortress a suicide mission, even with the whole of the GSA’s warriors. And so, another solution was needed. Galacta Knight and her party ventured forth to seek out Nightmare’s weakness from the mythical Galactic Nova, and Meta Knight to recover the legendary sword Galaxia. Only one of the missions would be successful, but you knew that from the start, didn’t you?

When Meta Knight returned from his mission in triumph and in mourning, you celebrated with and consoled him. Garlude had not died in vain, and the GSA was one vital step closer to bringing a better life to her young daughter. 

And when Yamikage, Sir Dragato, and Jecra returned as well, solemnly reporting what you already knew to be true, that Galacta Knight had disappeared during the summoning of Nova, you faced Meta Knight and lied through your teeth. Oh, you did not have to fake your grief, for that was quite real enough -- Galacta Knight had been your close companion, confidant, and, some whispered, possible consort -- but to put a sympathetic hand on Meta Knight’s shoulder and to give him the bad news and your condolences? The _guilt_. You thought it might choke the lies right out of your mouth, till you were suffocating from the truth.

Perhaps Meta Knight saw it in your shaking hands, heard it in your broken voice: symptoms of grief and guilt both. Or perhaps he remained oblivious. You cannot help but imagine that if Meta Knight truly suspected your involvement, he would have confronted you at the point of his new sword. Although, perhaps he was too loyal to the GSA to further maim its leadership, and believed that Nightmare needed to be defeated before justice could be sought. You didn't know. What you did know was that Meta Knight did not openly confront you, and he did not abandon the GSA. 

Nevertheless, Galacta Knight's disappearance sparked suspicion from all sides within the ranks. Everything regarding the mission to Nova had been extremely confidential: the intent, the means, the team, the location… You gave scraps of information to Meta Knight, as his high-rank and close partnership with Galacta Knight afforded him _some_ explanation, and did your best to hide any implication of a conspiracy. But all anyone else knew was that Galacta Knight had set out on a mission and did not return. A few months later, Yamikage fully defected to Nightmare’s side, but even _that_ was not open knowledge until nearly a year later when he appeared in a battle at the head of the Demon Beast army. A number of Star Warriors put two and two together, deducing conspiracy around Galacta Knight's disappearance, but Dragato and Jecra's involvement and your knowledge of it went undiscovered. But in the absence of facts, rumor flourished, and distrust rippled through the ranks, and many of the uppermost ranking leaders were held in the worst suspicion. Most of the Star Warriors did accept you as uncontested leader of the GSA, as you had previously been below Galacta Knight and superior to Meta Knight, but some protested. Others questioned the various members of your inner circle, and whispers of treason could be heard up and down the chains of command. Some of the more fickle idealists and fair weather soldiers deserted. If you held the GSA together, it was with teeth and prayers. Suddenly, the opportunity to corner Nightmare evaded you, for you did not have the knowledge to beat him and you certainly no longer had the numbers or strength, much less morale. And so Nightmare sank his fangs into your weakness, and clawed himself out of the proverbial ditch. You were ashamed to admit it, but when Nightmare began prodding at the divide within the army, he had every advantage at his side, and you were part of the reason why.

Nightmare retaliated against the GSA with a vengeance, and within only a handful of years, you saw everything you had built crumble. The GSA was essentially wiped out of existence, all your soldiers and your friends dead or deserted. No one left save you, your inner circle, and, somewhere beyond enemy lines, Yamikage. For years, you and your knights searched the galaxies for other Star Warriors, hoping beyond hope that some had miraculously escaped, or that a new generation would appear. You searched, stewing in your own guilt, the knowledge that sacrificing Galacta Knight had cost more lives than the ones she took by herself. And yet, releasing her was not an option: the deed had been done, and surely she would kill all of you now. So you searched, and you suffered the shame in silence.

In the end, you did not find any Star Warriors. Instead, they came to you -- or, rather, their allies came to you. You were stunned into silence when Jecra’s son introduced himself, along with Garlude’s daughter, offering information and a deal so precious you were worried you might be dreaming.

Not only was another Star Warrior alive -- not only was it Meta Knight, your fellow general, wielder of Galaxia, and one of the most dangerous Star Warriors aside from his mentor Galacta Knight -- but a new generation had begun to sprout. Knuckle Joe and Sirica both insisted that, although a newborn, this Star Warrior Kirby was enormously powerful, and had already disposed of some of Nightmare’s favorite Demon Beasts. And Knuckle Joe and Sirica would take you to them, provided you went along with their plan to attack Nightmare.

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. The GSA, utterly gone, save for Meta Knight, a newborn, some children, and you and your knights -- and yet, Nightmare, in his victory and in his supreme dominance, was finally vulnerable. It was almost too good to be true, and yet they insisted. The attack on Nightmare would go on, with or without you. This time, you did not pass up the opportunity.

* * *

You are still high on the euphoria and disbelief of Nightmare’s defeat when you meet with Meta Knight in Dream Land. You welcome him with open arms. How could you not? Meta Knight is one of your closest and oldest allies, and it is fitting that he be here with you in this triumph. It is fitting that you celebrate _him_ in this triumph, actually, for it is his work with Kirby and the Battleship Halberd that brought an end to a multi-millennia-long war. 

“Sir Arthur,” he greets you, clearly pleased despite his stoic demeanor. “We have much to talk about. And Sirs Falspar, Dragato, Nonsurat.”

You can’t keep the grin off your face, and Falspar goes as far to clap Meta Knight on the back. “Yes, yes, we do! We need to know everything that’s happened, and you should know of our ventures, too,” you tell him. You watch Falspar pull Meta Knight into your airship -- the only suitable place for company right now, going by the ruined state of the castle and most of the village -- and follow, overwhelmed with excitement for one of the first times in recent memory.

There is quite a lot to talk about, and the five of you talk late into the evening. Meta Knight regales you with stories of Kirby’s accomplishments and tragedies alike, and your crew shares your struggles and minor successes as well. Admittedly, Meta Knight’s stories far overshadow your and your crew’s, but that is alright. Meta Knight seems not to go out of his way to brag, and glory has never been your first priority. 

Eventually, your knights bed down to sleep, leaving you and Meta Knight awake. You are exhausted, truthfully, and Meta Knight looks it too -- and yet, you know that gleam in his eyes, the brief flashes of whites and greens you’ve seen throughout the hours. Rather than bid him goodnight, you step out into the night with him, enjoying the breeze coming off the ocean.

“There’s something that’s bothering you,” you note. 

You are not particularly surprised when Meta Knight replies, “Yes. But I would like to speak elsewhere. Preferably at this land’s Kabu stone.” Meta Knight has always been a bit secretive. Likely it is what has kept him alive for so long.

“Alright,” you agree, and allow him to lead you along the river and through the forest to the ancient Star Warrior shelter.

This Kabu stone looks like all others, though perhaps a bit in need of repair. Inside, you recognize Kirby’s Warp Star, humming quietly in its place on the altar. 

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, eyes lingering briefly on the Warp Star. 

You take a seat on the stairs, and likewise Meta Knight perches on the edge of the altar and breathes deep, seemingly bracing himself. Finally, he says, “You need to be aware of something. And I need some answers.”

Dread suddenly bubbles up in your chest, though you aren’t quite sure why, and you keep your reply cheerful. “By all means, make me aware. Hopefully I have the answers you seek.”

“You know Kirby is immensely powerful, even for a Star Warrior,” Meta Knight begins. You nod; ‘immensely powerful’ is still a bit of an understatement for the toddler that brought down Nightmare. “You should know the reason why, if you do not already.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you reply, the feeling of dread worsening with every word he speaks. What is this? What is he getting at?

Meta Knight stares you in the eyes, and it occurs to you that you both have your masks on; you trust Meta Knight, you do, but perhaps at more of a distance than you realized. But you trust him, and you believe him when he speaks the unbelievable. “Kirby is so powerful because of his parentage. Particularly that of his mother, a legendary Star Warrior in her own right. The foremost legendary Star Warrior.”

The foremost...? It can't be.

You gape at him like a fish, even if instantly you know that Meta Knight speaks the truth. You saw some of Kirby's battle in Nightmare's fortress, and you know: that kind of power appears once an era, and never coincidentally. They have to be connected. You feel the heat coming off Kirby's Warp Star in waves, and you recall the speed and grace with which the child, _toddler_ , had flown it, and the sheer skill and power in dimensional magic that would have been needed to copy it and wield the Star Rod. The capacity for dimensional magic needed in even simply being able to vacuum up large objects and absorb them whole, nevermind to actually acquire and use such a huge diversity of Copy Abilities, is beyond what most normal Star Warrior are capable of. But it is not beyond Kirby. And, even if she was never particularly inclined toward Copy Abilities, it was certainly never beyond Galacta Knight's legendary capabilities, either. You realize they even look alike; Kirby has her hair and skin tone, the same general facial features. You’d feel almost foolish for not realizing their connection earlier if it weren’t for the sheer impossibility of it.

“How can that be?” you whisper. “She never… When? How?”

Meta Knight crosses his arms, unflappable as ever. “I am not sure. But he is her child. A few months ago, a shapeshifting Demon Beast unwittingly confirmed it.” For the first time, you notice a golden dagger on his belt. 

Perhaps it’s just the shock, but you have to stop yourself from jokingly suggesting if heritage tests were one of Holy Nightmare Co.'s services. Instead, you ask, “Who is his father?” 

Evidently, it’s not a question Meta Knight expects or cares about, and he simply shrugs. “I have no idea. I am far more concerned with Galacta Knight.”

“Concerned with what about her?” Ah, _here_ is the dread. Here is what you fear.

Meta Knight fixes you in a steely stare. "I am concerned with Galacta Knight's fate, of course. We never had confirmation of her death, and our investigations brought up nothing of use. We cannot assume she is dead, and with the war over, we cannot simply let the matter lie."

You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the rush of it in your chest. Here it is, the confrontation you feared. You have lied to Meta Knight before, but perhaps now he has caught you off guard, and you aren't sure you can pull the same trick twice. You try nonetheless. “Meta Knight,” you say, soft and placating. “Don’t do this to yourself. I don’t… Meta Knight, don’t get your hopes up, or mine. She's gone. Don't try to convince me you can bring her back. Mourning her the first time was painful enough.”

Meta Knight stands slowly, his eyes flashing a pure white, and suddenly you regret not bringing your shield and sword. You didn’t think you’d need them, not with Meta Knight. Is it really going to come to that?

“You know more about what happened to Galacta Knight than you let on,” he accuses. “Tell me, Arthur.” 

You cannot argue outright, so you try a different tactic. “Yes, I know some things about the mission that were confidential, and that you were not told. But what do you want me to say? I’ve already told you the gist of it before. Galacta Knight summoned Galactic Nova, and it imprisoned her for it. It's possible Nova didn't like her request.”

The glare Meta Knight gives you is so piercing you feel defenseless even with your armor. Galacta Knight herself would be impressed by it. “That’s not what happened, and I want to know why you keep telling me that.”

You struggle not to wince under his direct approach. “What makes you so certain it's not? Have you discovered something suggesting the contrary?"

“It doesn’t matter how I know. I know there was a conspiracy against Galacta Knight from within our ranks,” he replies, and you aren’t sure if he’s bluffing or not. You stand up from the stairs as Meta Knight begins to stalk back and forth in front of the altar. “ _Tell me_ , Arthur. Who were they? Who went on that mission with her?”

You hesitate. You feel no need to protect Yamikage, and Jecra is already dead, but Dragato is _on your ship_. He has served too well and too long to be sacrificed as the target of Meta Knight’s misplaced rage now.

“Yamikage, as part of his defection," you say, as if relenting. "He had been meeting with Nightmare before then, and struck a deal with him to sabotage a mission. Galactic Nova appeared and Yamikage somehow… hijacked the wish, and had Galacta Knight sealed away. I didn’t know until he openly left us.” That much is mostly true. It was a shock to you as much as anyone when Yamikage actually turned on the GSA in favor of Nightmare, even if you knew the ninja was a conspirator. “I encountered him once since then, not in a friendly way, and that was when he told me sealed away Galacta Knight. He claimed that, for all Nightmare has done, he preferred a master that didn’t destroy planets.” You don’t agree with Yamikage’s black and white rationale -- sacrificing Galacta Knight did not necessitate joining Nightmare and betraying the GSA as a whole -- but it isn’t relevant right now. 

Meta Knight continues to pace, and you try to resist feeling like a rat hiding from the cat. “Who else?” he demands. "There had to be more."

You put your hands up, open-palmed, as if you could mollify him. “Meta Knight, you don’t-- trust me, you do not want to know who else. They are dead now. Let them lie. Yamikage was the ringleader, and everyone else is dead.”

“Except you.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“You knew. You knew it would happen. You were part of it. You allowed it and you covered it up.” 

He has you now, dead to rights, and you realize he must have known from the moment you told him all those years ago that Galacta Knight would not be returning. But still you try. “Meta Knight, that's a very serious accusation without evidence. I can't prove something I didn't do. If you don’t believe me, then don’t, but if you are set on seeing me guilty, I cannot convince you otherwise.”

“I didn’t take you for such a dedicated _liar_ ,” Meta Knight snarls, and you see a shadow of the Demon Beast he once was. His eyes bleed into a bright red, casting a sinister light over the contours of his mask. “Have a shred of honor, Arthur, and tell me the truth!”

But it is far too late for honor. You do not relent. “It’s true, I covered it up, but I swear, Meta Knight, I didn’t know it would happen! Yamikage told me afterwards in an attempt to recruit me to his and Nightmare's side. I didn’t know.”

“But you covered for him, and let him go? You didn't betray Galacta Knight but you supported the man who did? Whose side are you _on_ , Arthur?”

This is too much. “I have _always_ been for the GSA,” you growl. “ _Always_. We protect people, we don’t destroy them out of spite!” The words come out before you can stop them, and you realize in horror that you’ve given Meta Knight exactly what he wants.

Meta Knight stops, turning to face you with a dramatic flourish of his cape. “That’s it, then. You at least agree with what the conspirators did."

You straighten your back, making yourself as tall as you can without resorting to standing on tiptoes. “Yes, I agree with them. What Galacta Knight did, and what she was willing to do again, was unconscionable. She killed nearly a billion people and she had _no remorse_ , Meta Knight!”

“And that’s still fewer deaths than you caused by getting rid of her!” he snaps. “If we’re to judge you by outcome rather than intent as well, you’re _just_ as guilty, if not moreso.” 

It’s something you’re well aware of, and it eats at you every night until you feel like a hollow shell. Galacta Knight destroyed a planet already doomed to Nightmare, considering the deaths of its people inevitable. The least she could do was make sure their deaths would be a real, practical sacrifice toward the war effort, rather than a senseless and vain loss. You and Yamikage had disagreed with her about the absolute certainty that Nightmare's reign there would kill them all, and had argued that even if that were to happen, she had no right to simply take away their chance to fight for their survival. You know you were right on principle, but now you also understand that your principles mattered very little in the face of the GSA's utter annihilation and the universe's submission to Nightmare. 

What’s done is done. “Perhaps I am guilty,” you allow. “What will you do? Will you cut me down for treason? Will you execute me?”

Given the state he’s in, that’s a very real possibility. Meta Knight _seethes_ , breathing slow and deep as if his fury were suffocating him. When he speaks, there is overwhelming scorn in his voice. "I just want to understand. You were so intimate with Galacta Knight for so many years, but you have _no remorse_ about stabbing her in the back? Did you ever truly care for her?"

Your hands ball into fists, and you can barely keep them from shaking. You may not have your weapons, but Meta Knight’s words make his outrage contagious, and you have to restrain yourself from simply trying to punch him bare-handed. “Do _not_ ,” you warn, unable to even finish the thought. “Do not go there.” You _did_ care for Galacta Knight. You remember fighting to defend each other on the battlefield, you remember countless days spent together planning and strategizing, as well as the nights spent relaxing and carousing. You fought together, suffered together, and celebrated together. But then... _Do not forget that this woman is evil_.

You were so sure. And the guilt still burns like acid under your skin and it devours you whole inside and out.

Mercifully, Meta Knight doesn’t press, though you can still see in his gleaming red eyes, his stiff posture and puffed chest that his control over his anger is tenuous. Perhaps he means to be satisfied with the reaction he managed to provoke from you. With a start, you realize that in his mask and in his rage, Meta Knight resembles Galacta Knight as much as Kirby does. “I will not execute you," he declares. "I am not dishonorable enough for that yet. But I ask that you leave this planet, in case I change my mind." 

You fix Meta Knight, your former comrade and friend, in a cold stare. “Very well, if that is what you want,” you say, and give him a sarcastic bow, from superior to subordinate. "What will you do once I am gone?" You have a horrible suspicion that you already know, but if you speak it aloud, you will be obliged to try and stop him. 

Meta Knight's silence is pointed. 

For just a moment, you are back on base during the war, and it is Galacta Knight standing across from you, dressed in her soft nighttime tunic, her long hair falling in small waves after being in a braid all day. Close enough to touch, close enough to hold. _After this, I'll see you again, Arthur. I promise you that._

You shudder and turn towards the stairs. You desperately hope Meta Knight will not enable her to make good on that promise. “Fare well, Sir Meta Knight. I take my leave. Keep Kirby safe, and raise him to be kinder than his mother."

* * *

A man is known by the company he keeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly wrote Meta Knight shouting J'ACCUSE at the end there. Also, I think I made it clear but just for clarification, don't take anything Arthur says to Meta Knight at face value. Arthur is a liar, if a well-intentioned one.  
> Other clarifications: my gijinka Kirby inhales not through his mouth but by sucking air into a hole in his hands, so I call it absorb or vacuum instead of inhale. It's a bit of an unconventional headcanon so I try not to use it too much but I was uncomfortable depicting a toddler unhinging his jaw to inhale something. Anything else on Copy Abilities and dimensional magic is also entirely my headcanon because there's just enough in the lore to suggest that Kirby isn't the ONLY one to use them but no info beyond that.
> 
> Future updates will be a little slower since the covid19 panic is saddling me with a LOT of extra work, but we're nearly done with this short fic as it is. I'm considering writing one-shots set in the same AU though. Thank you so much for all the comments! They make me so happy and occasionally I pull them out to look at during my breaks at work.


	7. Luminosity (Kirby)

**KIRBY**

* * *

It takes a few months, but with all of the villagers working together, Pupu Village eventually stands on its feet again in the wake of its destruction. Neither the castle nor the Battleship Halberd are ever fully rebuilt, but you don’t mind too much. Fumu, Bun, and their parents relocate to the village and you with them, and Sir Meta Knight and his squires build a house for themselves across the river that flows into Whispy Woods’ forest. Dedede and Escargon, too, move into the village, though they are far from happy about it. _You’re_ happy with everything; all your friends are closer now, and you’re forbidden from nowhere. No more Demon Beasts threaten you or your loved ones, and your greatest concerns now revolve around what you’re having for lunch.

Today, the lunch is simple sandwiches and fruit, courtesy of Meta Knight. Well, the lunch isn’t really _yours_ ; you find Meta Knight sitting in the shade provided by the vibrant gold, orange, and red tapestry of the autumn-time trees, and he is kind enough to share with you his lunch. You pull your little body onto the low bench -- one of several informal rest stops that line the long, winding road up to the castle -- so that you’re perched next to him, and devour the sandwiches as soon as you can cram them into your mouth. Meta Knight gingerly lifts a bottle of water to your lips so that you don’t choke. 

“Slow down,” Meta Knight chides, to deaf ears, though he doesn’t seem particularly worried. He sets down the water and stretches his legs out, crossing his feet at the ankles, seemingly content, as you start in on the apples. 

As you eat, Meta Knight studies you thoughtfully, his eyes green enough to rival the grass under your feet. “Kirby,” he says, voice soft. You stop for a moment and babble nonsense sounds at him, and then return to your apple slices. Meta Knight takes it as an acknowledgement and continues. “Little one, I have been considering something that will inevitably affect you.”

He hesitates, retrieves a napkin and carefully wipes a trail of apple juice from your chin. “You never knew your mother, but I did. She was… an incredible woman. She would have adored you.”

You smile uncomprehendingly, kicking your feet happily so that your heels occasionally smack against the underside of the bench. You’re only willing to sit here for so long, but you don’t want to immediately leave Meta Knight by his lonesome. For his part, Meta Knight is lost in thought, one hand holding his chin and seemingly looking at you blankly. 

“You look just like her,” Meta Knight murmurs. “You have her determination, too, and her sense of justice. I’m almost surprised Arthur didn’t want you done away with as well.” He sighs and leans back lazily, crossing his arms. He keeps his green eyes on you. “I think I’ve found a way to bring her back. But I don’t know if I should. Perhaps Arthur had a point; she’s immensely dangerous, and the galaxies are at peace now. It may be unwise to unleash her.”

As Meta Knight speaks, a butterfly catches your eye, its orange and yellow wings almost blending in with the canopy of leaves above. Suddenly you’ve reached the limits of your patience, and slip off the bench, trailing the butterfly’s path as it floats to the nearby tree trunk. You’re still close, and from the corner of your eye you can see Meta Knight watching you. He keeps talking, possibly more to himself than you. “It seems unfair to deny you the chance to meet your mother. I doubt she had much time with you either, considering how well she hid you.”

It occurs to you that there’s still an apple slice or two left, and you rush back to the bench to retrieve them and hold them high for the butterfly. It takes a moment, but once you’re standing still enough, the butterfly obliges you and gently touches down on one of the apple slices. You carefully lower your arm and bring it closer to your face, slowly enough not to startle the butterfly into flying away. It flaps its wings restlessly, but doesn’t take to the air. You giggle in delight, watching the butterfly sip on the apple, and you cautiously turn around to return to Meta Knight so you can show him your success. 

Meta Knight nods obligingly. “I see it, Kirby. Well done. It took patience and cleverness to lure the butterfly in, and you’ve grown to possess both.” He trails off, briefly lost in thought again, before adding, “If I recall correctly, that’s a sunset morpho butterfly. Most other morpho butterflies are blue.”

The comment means little to you, though. You sit on the grass, butterfly and apple in hand, and stare curiously at the butterfly as it eats. After awhile, the butterfly stops, apparently having eaten its fill, waves its wings and flutters away. You watch it go, somewhat disappointed. You suppose it can’t sit here forever, and neither can you.

You stand back up, and toddle over to Meta Knight, who takes the remaining apple bits from you and disposes of them. You climb back onto the bench and, suddenly groggy from lunch and the mild breeze, decide to lay your head on Meta Knight’s lap. He protests, “Kirby, I have to go up to the castle. I have work to do if I am going to find your mother.” However, he doesn’t urge you off, and you feel his gloved fingers gently brush strands of hair from your face as you close your heavy eyelids. 

Meta Knight pets your hair, evidently accepting his fate as your personal pillow. His voice is quiet and contemplative when he speaks. “Perhaps unleashing Galacta Knight is unwise, but I realize now that I am duty-bound to do it. I owe your mother so much, and I owe it to you, too.” But sleep calls, fast and beckoning, and you don’t hear anything more.

* * *

An odd, semi-consistent routine forms between you and Meta Knight. Every few days, you meet him at the base of the hill for lunch, and you follow him up to the castle ruins. Meta Knight brings an odd toolbox, and settles in the throne room, where he works tirelessly tinkering with the Demon Beast transporter. You have no idea what he's doing, or what he means to accomplish, and you often nap or play or whatever else as he works. When you grow bored, you hug Meta Knight goodbye, and head back to the village to play with Fumu and Bun and the Cappies.

The seasons pass. The leaves fall, and eventually the snow does, too. Meta Knight continues his work, sometimes with wrench and hammers, sometimes with a computer and flash drive. You keep him company for a time, and he gives you treats and hugs as reward, before you return to the village and to Fumu. And so it goes, and so the snows melt and the plants grow back greener and full of life, and so Meta Knight works.

The new Pupu Village has been standing for two and a half years before the routine changes. You meet Meta Knight at the hill, expecting a late lunch, and are surprised when he greets you by scooping you into his arms instead. “It’s time,” he says, his eyes an intense blue and his quiet voice full of excitement, and you hold onto his shoulders as he carries you to the castle throne room. 

* * *

Luminosity: the amount of light emitted by a celestial object in a unit of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought I'd be busy with work but then the quarantine happened. Anyway, short, fluffy interim chapter, the next one will be up shortly.


	8. Lady of Sorrows, Mother of Mercy (Galacta Knight)

**GALACTA KNIGHT**

* * *

You can’t move. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. You can’t feel the heat of your own body, or the chill of space. There is nothing. There is nothing here. Just this solid and silent crystal, and your lifeless body inside.

You don’t know how much time passes, or if it even does. 

There is nothing here. There is nothing here, and your mind is sluggish and unaware, as if dreaming. Are you dead? You feel nothing. You never knew it was possible to feel _nothing_ , but. Here it is, almost tangible. There is nothing. There is nothing. This is hell. You must be dead. Your thoughts wander, haphazard and nonsensical.

You dream. You remember.

Somewhere in this haze, you see several familiar figures. You see Meta Knight, his black-red armor and leather wings that mark him as one of Nightmare’s creatures, his eyes wide and frightened behind his mask. The entire front and left sides of his torso are soaked in his own blood, and he will bleed out if you don’t help him quickly.

“Don’t be afraid, little knight,” you say, reaching for him with wisps of healing magic at your fingertips. You see your reflection in his silver mask, and you see the parts of him that mirror you most. _He_ mirrors you, you realize, this winged and masked Star Warrior; Nightmare must be desperate to do away with you if he’s making a literal match for you. That monster must have used a genuine Warp Star to make his Star Warrior. More the fool he. Star Warriors can be corrupted, but they can be purified, too, and Nightmare may as well have just handed you a new ally.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go home, you and I.” 

Home is war, home _is the_ war. You live in it, all-encompassing, adapt to it, even thrive in it. You take Meta Knight to base and dress him in blues and purples, and pin a little star badge to his epaulette. When that is not enough, when other the Star Warriors still shy away with suspicion and Meta Knight roils in bad dreams, you set out with him to retrieve his Warp Star from Nightmare’s grasp. Somewhere in deep space, you cut a wide hole into the dimensional wall with your lance and it tears as easily as if it were cheap fabric, and you watch Meta Knight reach into the blinding, rushing Elsewhere and pull out a small star. It’s black and clouded, but that is alright, for the Fountain of Dreams purifies all, and the Meta Knight that emerges is so overjoyed and full of life that you know it is all worth it. Meta Knight follows you from then on, loyal to a fault and cleverer than you thought possible. When he abandons you to your fate, you know he does not do so willingly.

You will see him again.

Somewhere in this haze, you see Arthur.

Your second-in-command, your oldest friend. If Meta Knight is your right hand, Arthur is your left. You have no doubt, you could not continue this war without him. You sit with him at a campfire, your hand brushing covertly against his, loudly singing some silly song with your soldiers as the stars twinkle above. In another memory somewhere else, you hug him, stand with him over the sight of some poor village’s smoking ruins. The remains of Nightmare’s work. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you soothe, pulling your wings around Arthur’s shaking shoulders. “We did everything we could, but this war is too big for us to save everyone.”

Arthur rubs the back of his hand against his wet eyes. His voice breaks when he speaks. “But that’s our purpose. We’re the GSA. We’re supposed to protect people. And we failed.”

You gently lift his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me. We do everything we can. We cannot do any more than that.”

The mood is much lighter in your bedroom, and Arthur teases you for all the ribbons, soaps, and hair product on your vanity table. You mock him in turn for his choice in nightclothes, and laugh off his attempt at a flirty reply. He smiles, embarrassed and happy both, and it’s lovely to see. The space is warmer with him in it, and so are you.

You will see him again.

Somewhere in this haze, you see Garlude.

She reaches for your stomach, but is wise enough to stop herself. She fiddles uselessly with her hands instead. Her circlet gleams in the light of the Fountain. “Please, my lady,” she begs. “Don’t send me away. I can’t possibly leave you now. You're due any day. What sword could be so important enough for me to leave you to give birth alone?”

You press one of your hands against your aching back; you are so swollen with this child you feel you could burst. “I cannot pursue Galaxia like this, and it is imperative that we keep it from falling into Nightmare’s hands. I am sending you with Meta Knight. That is a direct order.”

Garlude protests, but you silence her with a glare. You send her on her way, and settle into the Fountain alone to wait.

Somewhere in this haze, you see Jecra.

You don’t know him very well, but you see Meta Knight erupt into laughter at a joke he’s made. Though masked, you can tell there is genuine joy on Meta Knight’s face when Jecra is with him, and you go out of your way to assign them to the same unit, and allow them to take leave at the same time. What makes Meta Knight happy, makes you happy.

When Jecra betrays you, refuses to fight Yamikage or Dragato in defense of you, you spit blood from your mouth and, your neck flexing in vain around the kunai in your throat, curse him: _Traitor, may the hands that kill you belong to the person you trust most._

Somewhere in this haze, you see Yamikage.

He is with you when you sacrifice the planet Halcandra. He watches from the ship as you fly out into the planet’s atmosphere, your wings carrying you fast enough to leave afterimages. He watches as you cut into the dimensional wall with your lance, and drag the tear in a wide arc across the planet’s curve. He watches as the planet loses its structural integrity and collapses from the pressure, and when you return to him, you see his skin has gone pale and broken out into a cold sweat. The usually composed ninja seems like he might vomit onto the floor.

“This isn’t…” he protests, horrified but unable to look away from the sight. “I didn’t think… This is horrible...”

You could sympathize with him, but exploring your own feelings about destroying several million people is not something you’re willing to do in front of your subordinate. You sheathe your lance, dust the debris from your armor, and leave him alone in the control room to isolate yourself in your cabin. It was necessary. You repeat it to yourself over and over. It was necessary.

When Yamikage cuts your throat open wide with a kunai, you suppose you deserve it. Nevertheless, the blood turns the Fountain red, and all you can think -- _sacrilege, sacrilege, sacrilege. Vicious little cur, the GSA will fall without me, and you will be the cause._

Yamikage disappears in a cloud of smoke, out of your grasp, and when your vision is cleared, you see him stepping from a small space ship onto soft, green grass. Tall hills rise in the background, breaking up the horizon; on the crest of one rests a castle in ruins, and it is for here that Yamikage sprints to, leaving you behind.

You will see him again. You will see him again and you will see him dead.

Somewhere in this haze, you see Nightmare.

He grins at you, all razor-edged teeth and malice, and you smirk back because you know the bastard is dead. Across galaxies, across dimensions, you may feel nothing but you are still finely attuned enough to the stars that you instinctively _know_ that Nightmare is dead. The grin is frozen on his face, the corners of his mouth and eyes twitching from pain. The stars around you shine all the brighter.

Somewhere in this haze, you see your child. 

A toddler now, crouched on some kind of altar, an elevated platform connected with all manner of wires, in the center of a throne room. He clutches his Warp Star in one hand, and what looks to be one of your daggers in the other. A screen with various moving grids, symbols, numbers, and equations hangs from the ceiling. A celestial coordinate system, you realize. But what is it mapping?

“This shouldn’t hurt,” Meta Knight warns him, “but there will be quite a lot of noise and light, so do not be startled. Please remain as still as possible. If you do feel any pain, tell me and I will shut it off."

Kirby hums, a note of uncertainty in his voice, but Meta Knight seems confident enough. Meta Knight returns to his computer, and soon the strange machine whirs to life, sparks of electricity arcing above Kirby’s head. “It may take a moment to calibrate,” Meta Knight calls out over the buzz and crackling of the voltage. Kirby nods, but he is clearly not comforted enough, and pulls his knees up to his chin in an attempt to be as small as possible.

In the distraction, a flash of movement catches your eye. From the shadows of the room, a throwing star sinks suddenly into the hanging monitor, shattering it into pieces. Meta Knight draws Galaxia, just quickly enough to catch against its blade the katana swinging through the air. Your teeth rattle with the crash of metal on metal. Yamikage shimmies out of the block, and launches a barrage of lightning-fast strikes that Meta Knight barely manages to dodge. 

From the platform, Kirby shouts with a start, and leaps to his feet. Meta Knight swings Galaxia with the all the grace his mastery allows him, and a sword beam cleaves nearly directly through the ninja. "You're quite a bit late to try stopping this now," Meta Knight grunts. "You would be wise to flee."

“No. This has to be stopped,” Yamikage hisses, barely managing to duck before Galaxia can slice his head in half. “Do you know what you're doing? She’s killed countless people. What’s to stop her from doing it again?” ...Is he talking about _you?_

But Meta Knight spares him no more words. Behind them, Kirby recovers from his shock, and absorbs the ninja star, transforming into his Ninja Copy Ability. Pride wells up in your chest at the sight, and Kirby flings multiple kunai and ninja stars at Yamikage’s unprotected side, while Meta Knight fends the ninja off from the front.

Suddenly outnumbered, Yamikage leaps back, and throws another kunai at the machine -- though before it can connect with any of the thick wires powering the platform, Kirby’s own kunai deflects it from its path. The whir of the machine turns to a deafening roar, shaking the walls so that a cloud of dust drops from the ceiling. The lightning arcs grow larger and brighter until they are completely blinding. A robotic voice issues from the shattered screen, barely audible: “INITIATING RETRIEVAL >”

“IN THREE >”

“TWO >”

Yamikage roars in frustration and fear, and in a sudden cloud of smoke appears next to Kirby and the transporter. He swings his katana down on Kirby’s head, meaning to cut apart both child and machine in one fell swoop.

“ONE > GO!”

And then -- and then --

You wake up.

The katana bounces off your shield like a cheap toy, the blade rattling and chipping against the impact. 

You’re alive. _You’re alive_. You feel the heat from the voltage, feel the din of the machine shake the room. _You're free_.

When the thundering and blind lights of the machine die down, and the world comes into focus, you see that Kirby is now literally underneath you -- cowering between your feet. Mindful not to step on him, you lift yourself into the air with your wings, hovering just above the platform. 

You breathe. Air enters your lungs, your heart pounds, you feel the stifling, humid heat of the throne room. You’re alive. Blood roars in your ears, overwhelming, and your vision blurs into a red haze. Less than a foot before you stands Yamikage, still clutching his katana, nothing less than sheer terror and the realization of regret on his face.

You’re alive. Free. You’re alive, you can breathe, you can move. You feel the blood pulse through your veins. Perhaps you should feel relief, but it is only fury -- only hatred burning under your skin, under the beds of your nails, behind your eyelids, bubbling against the back of your throat, scorching like fever. Yamikage gazes up at you like some poor mortal ready to be struck down by a vengeful god. It's a gratifying sight, his terror, his submission, but you need more, and every part of your being thunders for his blood. _Vengeance_.

The ninja attempts to flee, throws his smoke bomb and tries vanishing -- and quicker than light, you snatch him out of thin air and drag him back into physical reality, and hold him dangling by the wrist. Fool. 

Yamikage’s eyes meet your own. In a last act of defiance, he gathers his courage and speaks. “You can never re--”

But he chokes on his words, on the blood that wells up in his mouth. You feel when his sternum give way before your lance, and you push until you feel your weapon break through his spine and exit out of his back. Yamikage gurgles, a dark stain spreading across his gray face mask. For a moment his feet kick uselessly under him, and then he stills.

Silence fills the room, stifling and suffocating in a way far worse than the humidity. A trail of blood spills off your lance, and drips onto Kirby’s face below you. 

Your child looks up at you, mouth agape, and you know it is not awe that makes his blue eyes so wide. It is not love that freezes him in place.

You snap back to reality, and fling Yamikage’s limp body off from your lance. He smacks against the floor with a sickening, wet thud, and the sound makes Kirby cringe. Slowly, you touch your feet to the platform, lowering your wings, and Kirby crawls out from under you and off the platform and cowers. You do not follow after him.

A familiar voice calls out to you, tinged with trepidation and wonder both. “Lady Galacta Knight!” Meta Knight sheaths his sword and rushes to the base of the platform, and Kirby clings to his legs in fear. You watch, still trembling as you come down from the rage, as Meta Knight gathers your son into his arms, and gently cupping Kirby’s chin with his hand, directing his head away from the sight of Yamikage’s body on the floor behind them. You know you are covered in the man’s blood. Kirby shakes, and tears well in his big eyes. It occurs to you suddenly that Yamikage was right to seal you away. Vicious, hateful beast that you are.

“Galacta Knight,” Meta Knight repeats, but pauses hesitantly. You suppose you don’t blame him for not knowing what to say, given what you just did. The murder you just committed. _Merciless_.

You barely know what to say yourself. “You brought me back,” is all you can manage, your voice quiet and choked. As the anger fades, it is replaced by something you can't quite describe. Something equally intense, a yearning like a hole in your chest. “You have my son.” You're startled by a desperate rush of affection towards the knight, and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. You’d like nothing more than to throw your arms around him, but the blood on your armor and the frightened look on Kirby’s face stops you. You shouldn't touch him now. It doesn’t escape you that Kirby is young enough that he should still be in his starship cradle; he looks perhaps ten or fifteen years old, not the _two hundred_ he should be.

You take another shaky breath and gesture at your child, but make no move to approach. What you need to do is leave. _You need to leave_. Kirby is terrified of you, you monster, and you need to _get away_ from him. But first, you need to know if you can trust Meta Knight alone with him. “Why is he so young? Did you seek him out early?”

“No,” he says. There is a note of surprise in Meta Knight’s tone when he answers, as if he'd never considered the idea. “His starship was drawn here by the presence of Demon Beasts, and he crashed. I have been training him ever since.”

That is acceptable. That is acceptable. Meta Knight did not track your baby down and steal him away from his cradle; he merely did the best he could with an unfortunate situation. You nod numbly. One more question. “What year is it?”

“It’s… it’s been about sixteen years since you disappeared, Lady Galacta Knight. Nightmare is defeated.”

Oh. Your first thought is, _Sixteen isn’t so bad, relatively speaking_. It takes a moment for the shock to begin sinking in. _Sixteen_. Why are your hands shaking so much? Kirby sniffles. You need to leave. “Are we all gone? The stars feel emptier.”

Meta Knight gets your meaning, despite your borderline incoherent wording. “Almost all of the Star Warriors are dead, yes. There’s the three of us…” He hesitates, and adds, in a tone fit for the confessional, “And Arthur and his knights.”

Arthur.

Meta Knight must see the hope in your eyes, the way your posture straightens and your wings raise slightly, because he hastens to stop it from growing any more. “Lady Galacta Knight, wait. You need to know… Arthur cannot be trusted. I spoke to him recently. He thought it best you not be brought back. He was... in agreement with Yamikage, and knew about the conspiracy. I'm sorry." He trails off, holding Kirby more tightly.

Oh. That would. Mean. _Oh_.

You need to get out. You have been trapped for too long and this dim room is too confined, too oppressive, and you break out into a cold sweat. You need to get out. You need to get away from the face Kirby is making at you. From the dam of emotions about to burst out from your chest.

Before you realize it, you’re halfway across the room, stepping over Yamikage’s body without breaking stride, and Meta Knight calls out behind you. You do not listen. You can’t. You need to leave.

Arthur betrayed you. _Your_ Arthur betrayed you. When did he start to hate you?

The night air is a welcome balm on your hot skin. Valleys and low-sloping hills spread out before you, and the ocean beyond it. You inhale the sea breeze, taste the faint salt, the suggestion of rain in the clouds. Yes. You need to go.

Behind you, Meta Knight’s footsteps click on the floor as he approaches. “Lady Galacta Knight?”

Absently, you realize you are leaving him to dispose of Yamikage alone. You lurch to a stop and turn toward him, trying to keep your gaze away from Kirby as best you can. Deep breath. Shaky, stilted voice. Don’t cry. “Thank you, Meta Knight. For rescuing me. For-- for taking care of my son. Words cannot express how much you mean to me.” 

Stars above, you owe him, your dear, loyal Meta Knight. He had promised you his allegiance in perpetuity, promised to follow you to the ends of the universe, and that’s what he may as well have done. He pulled you from the far reaches of space, and has raised your son as his own. And yet, you can’t even be near him now, can’t look at his worried eyes behind that mask, can’t look at the empty space on his shoulder where his GSA star pin should be. You need to leave. You can't bear to break in front of him, can't cry, can't bear to stomach the humiliation of being so vulnerable. Kirby is likely far better off with Meta Knight than you, anyway. You were never meant to be a mother; your role is as a killer, not life-bearer. It's time to go.

Your wings softly beat and your feet leave the ground, and your head is so light you fear you might float away with the breeze if you aren’t careful. “Thank you, Meta Knight. I’m-- I’m sorry, I promise I’ll see you again, but now I need to go. Take care of Kirby.” You turn away, flying with the wind to carry you upwards and forwards.

“Wait! Galacta Knight!” You make the mistake of looking back. The sight of Meta Knight, still cradling Kirby in his grasp, but now his cape disappeared and his mangled, broken wings extended. Unable to fly after you, but needing to all the same --

You turn toward the clouds and you do not look back again.

* * *

Hatred is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire time I was writing this chapter, I could not stop thinking about how funny it would be if I added "Omae wa mo shindeiru" or the To Be Continued meme to Galacta Knight's being released. Anyway, one more chapter to go! Several of the events Galacta Knight mentions (like Meta Knight's Warp Star) will be in the drabbles I plan on doing.
> 
> Also, I realize Kirby is probably used to violence, but for the record I feel like he'd be more affected watching a person be killed literally right above him by to the same person who looks like the impostor Demon Beast that nearly killed Meta Knight.


	9. Of the Stars (Galacta Knight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished! I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I went ahead and wrapped it up because it was becoming a source of stress. There'll be more content in the drabbles anyway. Also, whoever spots and identifies the outside literary references gets a cookie, or maybe a drabble request.

**GALACTA KNIGHT**

* * *

You are ashamed to admit that you do not return to Dream Land for quite some time. Of course, it is largely shame keeping you away in the first place. Shame that you have been exposed for the hateful monster you are, and shame for abandoning your close friend and child not once but twice. Shame, and a crippling suspicion that even if they welcome you back, your presence will do them more harm than good. That they are far better off without you. After all, look at what you've wrought in only a few minutes of their company. No. Destruction is your greatest gift. You fly far from Dream Land and you cannot return.

There is nowhere for you to go, really. The only home that ever calls to you is whatever Fountain of Dreams happens to be closest, and so you go, despite knowing you will accomplish nothing there. But what is it that you need to accomplish that drives you forward with such urgency? The war is won. There are no battles to fight, no soldiers for you to lead. You will not seek vengeance and track down Arthur and Dragato, at least for now -- the wound is still too fresh, and given what happened with Yamikage, you know well that your spite and your malice will overwhelm your rationality, and you do not want to do something you might regret. Maybe, with when your rationality returns, you will decide to not ever go after them.

You fly to Pop Star’s Fountain, and as your feet touch the grassy ground you’re struck by the realization that Meta Knight cannot fly here even if he suspects your location, which surely he does. Does his ship still work? Or is he cut off from the sky forever now, a Star Warrior bound to the earth beneath him? What a miserable, ironic fate. 

You try to banish the memory of the last time he flew using his own wings, the sight of him falling from the sky, hitting the ground -- how wide his eyes were when he looked up at you high above -- the hopeless beating of his wings he knew could not support him as you fled Dream Land --

Do not think about this.

This Fountain is in general much like its other planetary counterparts, though it boasts a particularly wide, deep pool around its spout. It’s something you would have otherwise enjoyed, diving into water that cannot truly drown you, cannot suffocate the air from your lungs -- and yet, the quiet underwater is too reminiscent of your crystal prison, too evocative of having your throat opened and spilled till the water dyed red, and submersion sends you into a sudden panic that not even the soft glow rainbow of the Warp Stars can soothe. You break through the surface and hurry back to the dry marble and grass, feeling inexplicably robbed of some intangible thing.

Will Kirby ever venture here, when he grows older? Most Star Warriors visited their home Fountain. Will he feel the persistent, instinctive tug towards the stars? Will he recognize the place he was born? You remember washing him in the Fountain’s clear waters, picking out a Warp Star for him off the bottom of the pool. Gold, five-pointed. 

You gave up your child at a Fountain like this. You were betrayed at a Fountain like this. Holy sanctuary it may be, this sacred ground burns your feet wherever you stand. You feel resentment boil in your blood and echo through the bone and marrow, that what once gave you the greatest joy and contentment could be stolen from you as well --

Do not think about this. _You need to leave_.

Pop Star’s closest neighboring planet isn’t too far away, and despite your turmoil you find you enjoy the flight more than you expected. The peace that had escaped you at the Fountain comes to you as you break through the atmosphere, as the wind and clouds whip against you, and _this_ is what you’ve been wanting -- _freedom_. You fly lazy vertical loops high above the glittering, orange ocean as the sun begins its slow descent, and you dip one wingtip into the clouds so you can draw vague lines and shapes in the sky. Exhilarated, you race to the planet’s far north, and the trip is so easy for you, natural, and there you use your considerable skill and knowledge in both physical and metaphysical magic to alter the aurorae until they are streaming curtains of reds, golds, royal purples, and bright, vibrant blues that only you and the few, baffled local inhabitants will ever see. You continue like this for a while, and it’s good enough, just roaming through the skies, finding and creating beauty where you can. Although the war never quite reached this far into the galaxy anyway, you still feel that peacetime has made life brighter, fuller, happier. You don’t remember the last time the war did not weigh on your mind, and you feel free in more ways than one. This feeling is home, peace, as long as you stay moving.

An unwelcome voice whispers from the back of your mind: You could carry Meta Knight, since he can’t fly himself. The joy of flight was taken from him, and now he’s grounded, one of many sacrifices he’s made on your behalf, among winning _your_ war and taking care of _your_ child -- 

_Do not think about this_ , you cannot see him again --

Nevertheless, this contentment can only last so long. Despite its pleasures and privileges, soon your new freedom is no less lonely than your imprisonment, and guilt gnaws at your gut. You cannot outfly it, cannot outspeed it. You travel the galaxy, bouncing from planet to planet, but you cannot adapt to idleness when there are important matters left neglected. Important _people_ left neglected. You need to do something to fix this, though you know there is nothing for it. You cannot fix what you have done. Some injuries, you know, are only made worse through the surgery meant to treat them, and you continue to stay away from Dream Land.

For the most part, though, this compulsive idleness drives you to reminisce, no matter how hard you try otherwise. To mourn and reflect. In this new peacetime, your old reality feels empty. You return to old battlefields, Kabu sites, various Fountain of Dreams. Everywhere, you see every mark of Star Warriors except the Star Warriors themselves. Only graves, abandoned technology, fallen weapons, broken Warp Stars, and bone shards sticking out of the dirt. You erect impromptu grave stones for your comrades that don’t have them, leave them flowers and summon aurorae to commemorate the fallen, but there is little else you can do that would be meaningful.

And soon there is nothing you can do, no task or goal to complete, no issue you can fix, to cure this restlessness. And so you think. Soon you can’t stop thinking, actually, as your thoughts grow into a ceaseless, overwhelming buzz. It keeps you from sleep wherever you try to bed down. Before your imprisonment, your entire life revolved around the war with Nightmare. You can’t help but feel that with your old enemy gone, along with your allies and friends, your time is over as well. Who are you now? A savage, brutal woman, willing and eager to kill without hesitation, who revels in bloodshed and revenge? A soldier and knight made redundant, wandering through peacetime without purpose? An old relic of a time gone by? Or perhaps just another deadbeat mother? 

From somewhere far past the depths of space and time, you feel the warm hum of your Star as it gently admonishes you. You know better than this. You are too old, too clever and too wise to allow this stagnant cowardice. There will be no peace until you make it, no sense of identity until you carve it out for yourself. 

You must go back. Speak to the people you have wronged, and at least try to make amends. What do you, avenging angel, legendary demigod, our powerful Lady of the Stars, have to fear? To be ashamed of? This is such a mundane, trifling matter. You, the most powerful warrior in the known universe, have been through horrors and trials unlike that of which anyone else has ever known, have endured hurts innumerable. If you can do that, if you can spearhead an impossible war, if you can endure years of a noiseless, lifeless prison crystal with your sanity intact, if you can give birth alone under the stars, you can face those you have abandoned and hurt and prostrate yourself before them. Face the possibility of scorn, that you are correct and Meta Knight and Kirby are better off without you. 

If they will have nothing to do with you, that is no matter. You will have your closure, satisfy the compulsion to act, and then you can start anew.

* * *

It is summer for the second time when you finally return to Dream Land, and the cicadas are out in full force, making the very trees drone and tremble. The heat and humidity makes the forest shelter stifling, and you decide to leave your mask, armor, and weapons in Kabu, and set out in plainclothes. Perhaps it is better that you are less noticeable and intimidating, that Kirby does not fixate on the mask that has become so synonymous with violence.

The hot weather is far more tolerable at the beach, and you perch on the wooden pier that juts out above the waves, and spread your wings wide to enjoy the cool spray on your feathers. It is odd that the beach is so devoid of people on a day so perfect for enjoying it, and to your surprise, it takes over an hour or two for anyone to stumble upon you. You see them amble leisurely down the path to the beach: a well-dressed woman and two children, a girl as blonde as her mother and a toddler as rosey-ginger as you. 

The girl approaches you first, friendly but unable to hide her apprehension behind her smile. You wonder at the plastic bucket and shovel in her hands, but don’t comment. From the sand, she calls out over the crash of the waves, “Hello! My name’s Fumu. I didn’t see you come through the village?”

You stand up and carefully pick your barefooted way across the hot, sunbathed wood until you are in proper speaking distance. Fumu introduces herself again, and her mother, Lady Memu, and her friend Kirby. You do not need to be introduced to Kirby, though you do not say that for now; he smiles brightly and hangs onto Memu’s hand, seemingly unable to recognize you without your mask and armor. That is fine by you. Your stomach churns with guilt -- he would be terrified if he could recognize you. You shouldn’t be here. But, no, he seems alright for now, so what do you fear?

You crouch low so that you are eye-level with your child and greet him. “Hello, Kirby of the Stars.”

Kirby smiles brightly, putting his little hands on your bent knees, and babbles meaninglessly at you. You nod as if his sounds mean something.

“Excuse me for asking, but have we met before?” Fumu asks, her brows drawn in confusion as her eyes search yours. “You seem familiar.”

Of course you do. Kirby may as well be your younger doppelganger, save for the color of his eyes. If she does not realize that you are related, it is due to the sheer improbability of your presence here, not the lack of genetic resemblance. “No,” you answer simply. “I’ve never been here before. I think I might just be passing through.” You do not offer your name.

Memu smiles, all warmth and hospitality, a born and bred lady of status. You wonder what brought her to this little village. “You can stay for lunch if you like,” she offers. “We always have an extra seat at our table.”

“That’s very kind of you. I think I might take you up on it.” And you do mean it. You expect Meta Knight will find you soon, will feel the persistent phantom pull that all Star Warriors feel towards each other, but if not, wherever Kirby is will be a good place to start looking. 

The three of you make smalltalk -- well, aside from Kirby, who plops down into the sand to play -- for a time. You’re selective, though honest, about the questions you answer. You’re coming from the neighboring planet, you tell them, and are here in Dream Land for a few days while you figure out what best to do with your life after a new start. They’re out on an afternoon walk, apparently, to enjoy the last days of summer while they can. The conversation is pleasant enough, though eventually they bid you farewell so that they will be in time to cook lunch. Kirby toddles after them, giving you an enthusiastic wave as they leave. You notice that Fumu never takes her eyes off you until they are over the hill, and leaves with her bucket empty and shovel unused.

You are not surprised, then, when you are joined again less than an hour later.

Despite his best efforts, only rarely has Meta Knight managed to sneak up on you when you’re already expecting him. Still, he attempts his usual discreet arrival anyway, emerging from the tall beachgrasses with his cape gathered and draped over the crook of his elbow so that it does not drag on the sand. You watch with trepidation from the pier as he spots you and briskly treks his way across the beach toward you. 

When he is fully facing you, bearing down on you, and you can finally see his mask, see that his visor has turned his eyes into a bright blue with happiness, you’re hit with a tidal wave of pure relief that nearly sweeps you off your feet. Suddenly you can’t keep from smiling either, and you hurry to meet him halfway, throwing your arms open and around his shoulders. He hugs you by the waist and laughs, the kind of breathy, shocked laughter born from euphoria and surprise rather than humor, and you laugh too, because it is such a lovely sound to hear. 

Still with your arms still around each other, you lean back slightly to see him more clearly. You touch the underside of his jaw with one hand, and Meta Knight startles slightly as if remembering something; he slips an arm free and, to your surprise, pulls his mask off his face. You had almost forgotten what he looks like; the straightness of his nose, the carefully kempt brows and beard -- maybe a little less well-kempt now, a bit more bushy than you remember. You look at his high set eyes, so striking for their sheer lack of color: his pupils a cloudy gray, and irises such a pale yellow that they approach white, giving the overall impression that his eyes are wholly sclera. Several thin, faded scars draw light lines across his olive-bronze skin, including a few you haven’t seen before. He quickly returns his arm around your waist again, mask dangling from his hands, and you cup his cheek affectionately. Meta Knight leans into your touch, his eyelids hooded and his smile easy. 

You pause. "This is not how I thought this would go." 

Meta Knight chuckles, the movement emphasizing the slight laugh-line creases in his skin that fan out from the outer corners of his eyes. The sight is lovely and familiar enough that you nearly don’t hear when he tells you, “Welcome back.”

“I’m back,” you agree lamely, caught off guard because you’ve forgotten what you wanted to say. This isn’t what you prepared for. You had expected a much colder reception. You _deserve_ a much colder reception, not this open affection. It’s a little disconcerting, actually; this is the kind of soft, undignified intimacy you previously refused to show to anyone, save occasionally Arthur. “I had an apology prepared…”

“That’s not necessary," Meta Knight quickly protests. "You didn’t do anything worth apologizing for.”

You can’t stop yourself from looking skeptical, a half smile on your lips and one brow raised in disbelief. “Did I not abandon you and Kirby for a year after you went through so much effort to release me? Is what I did before I left not worthy of an apology?”

“...You don’t mean what you did to Yamikage?” Meta Knight asks, seemingly baffled. “Why would you apologize?”

“I…” You trail off, pausing so that you don’t stammer. Meta Knight’s confusion is clearly infectious, because before he questioned you, you thought the matter clear as day. “I executed him, brutally. In front of a toddler -- _my_ toddler. He used to be our ally, our friend even.”

Evidently, Meta Knight does not give it such gravity, as he blinks in slow comprehension and maybe something like wonder, the open-close movement of his eyelids creating brief flashes of white that contrast against his skin. “You did it in front of Kirby because Yamikage was trying to kill him," he responds, tone matter-of-fact. "He was trying to _kill your child_. More level-headed people have done worse in response. And, Yamikage had defected openly long ago, shortly after he betrayed you.”

Meta Knight’s suggestion is… not something you’d thought of, truthfully, and it gives you more credit than you deserve. “I didn’t do it for Kirby.”

You do not say that Kirby still only _barely_ feels like your child; you feel responsibility for bringing him into the world, and definitely guilt, but not love. You didn’t kill Yamikage out of parental-born rage and concern for your son’s safety. You did it out of revenge for yourself. And, besides, if it had been Jecra instead of Yamikage that you killed, you doubt Meta Knight would be as cavalier.

“All the same,” Meta Knight responds, cautiously brushing strands of hair from your forehead, “that you killed Yamikage doesn’t mean you should stay away.” You struggle not to shy away from the blatant tenderness, and he blessedly withdraws his hand and replaces it on your waist without comment.

You want to argue more, but there isn’t a kind way to say what you need to say, so you tighten your hands around his arms as if you might lose him if you were to let go. “Meta Knight,” you say, voice clear and almost stern. “I know you have admired me greatly for a long time, and you have always been one of my closest friends. Know I mean no insult when I suggest perhaps that your affection for me is blinding your judgement now.” 

You pull back as you speak, now holding Meta Knight at arms’ length, and your eyes directly meet his. “I butchered someone out of rage, I enjoyed it, I would have killed him even if he wasn’t posing a threat to Kirby, and that is the point of concern.”

As if on instinct, Meta Knight nearly steps forward to close the gap between you again, but stops when he sees the look on your face. “Do you think you’ll hurt Kirby?” he asks, admirably calm. 

“...No, but. My fear is that I already have.” You remember the blood dripping onto his forehead, the way he gazed up at you with such _terror_. The fear that you have left a permanent memory in his brain, a trauma given to him by his own mother. Your hands drop from Meta Knight’s shoulders.

Inexplicably, relief and something like amusement flash across Meta Knight’s face for the briefest moment before he suggests, his voice kind, “I think you may be overestimating how fragile Kirby is. He has incredible fortitude, and has not been scarred by worse.”

Nightmare, he must mean. It is true, any confrontation with Nightmare would be, well, nightmarish. You hope it is _only_ Nightmare and no one besides that has brought harm to Kirby.

“...Is he really that strong?” you question, though you know that he must be, given what he’s accomplished. Given that he was born from _you._ Is that not what you wanted? Is that not what you asked of him, and why you had him?

Meta Knight nods, and there’s an odd glimmer in his pale eyes as he studies you. “He’s just like you.” Then, he adds, “If you’re still concerned, we can introduce you without your mask first, so that he trusts you. He shouldn’t fear you then.” 

It’s not a bad idea, but. But.

“Is that what you want?” Meta Knight asks, sensing your hesitation and carefully prodding after it. He’s always been a little too astute.

You blink. “Is what?”

“Do you _want_ Kirby to know you? Do you want to stay?”

You don’t immediately answer. Truth be told, you haven’t truly considered it as a real possibility, and now that it’s staring you in the face, you feel a bit like you’re staring into the headlights of a train. You realize you were so convinced Meta Knight would send you away that you failed to consider what you would do if he didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I never truly… _expected_ to be a mother. After he was born, I didn’t think I’d ever get to see him again.” That he could never know you, and you could never know him.

Now that you have come so far, and now that you actually have the opportunity, you aren’t against the idea of having a relationship with Kirby, per se, as much as caught off guard by it. Motherhood has simply never been a realistic option for you; for most of your life, you have dedicated yourself so wholly, totally, to war and combat. When you conceived Kirby, you did so with the full knowledge and intent that you would be dead not long after giving birth, and you spent your entire pregnancy at a distance, reminding yourself to not get too attached to a baby you could never keep. You remember feeling spared that all-consuming, oppressive motherly love when he was born. Just relief. Perhaps that was unfair to him. Of course, in war…

_But maybe in other circumstances, keeping him wouldn’t have been so bad._

Finally, you come to a conclusion. “I want to stay with _you,_ that I know. And... I still owe Kirby some form of reparation, for finishing my work against Nightmare. So, yes, I will stay.” You may not love Kirby yet, but you can learn to. After all, Meta Knight did.

The way Meta Knight’s face lights up is all that’s needed to convince you that you’ve made the right decision, and you’re taken by surprise at how much the sight affects you. He tugs you back into another embrace, and you, scrambling for something like dignity, jokingly push his chin away with the heel of your hand, scolding, “Don’t look at me like that. Someone might think we’re happy. You’re ruining my reputation.” 

Meta Knight’s grin smushes against your palm, making him look remarkably dopey given the war-hardened veteran he is. You know it is a rare gift for him to drop his composed, aloof demeanor, because you’re the same way. 

“What reputation?” he teases, in a tone far too smug. “No one here knows of you. If anything, it’s _mine_ that will be ruined.” He tries leaning his face against where you’re pressing your palm, and you concede quickly so that you are cupping his cheek again. This time, he places one of his hands on top of yours, as if to hold it there in place. You absently rub the knuckle of your little finger on the textured cloth of his glove. This is the most… _emotionally_ intimate you’ve ever been with anyone. It’s downright saccharine, but you indulge in it anyway.

“That’s your own mistake for taking off your mask,” you retort, though you’re really quite appreciative that he still makes no move to re-don it. You expect he will, soon, as the sun sinks lower in the sky and shines more directly into his cloudy eyes. But for now, you’re content with the trust and affection he sees fit to share with you, along with his coy, yet almost incredulous smile. As if he still can’t quite believe this is happening.

Impulsively, you lean forward and gently touch your forehead to his, slightly bumping the bridge of his nose against yours, and stay there. Not kissing, quite, but as close as you’re willing to get right now. Meta Knight briefly stills, startled, but then reciprocates. You feel his hands on your waist again. 

Tentatively, he whispers, “Will this happen again?” His breath is warm against your skin.

“Probably,” you admit. You knew, in the first few years after you recruited him, of Meta Knight’s genuine adoration for you, though with circumstances as they were, you felt you could not reciprocate then. Now you’re only a little surprised -- and gratified -- to discover it still there, or at least rekindled. This time, you will hold onto it.

Abruptly, you hear a series of shouting, whooping noises from the hilltop, just above where the grass rolls into the high beachgrass and turns into sand. When you peer around Meta Knight’s head, you see several children jumping in rowdy excitement, seemingly both cheering on and heckling the two of you. 

The sheer exasperation on Meta Knight’s face is well worth the minor indignity of getting caught, and you struggle to stifle your laughter as he lurches back from you. “ _Children_ ,” he grumbles, and swiftly drops his hands from your waist and slips his mask back into place. You aren’t sure how necessary that is, given that they can only see him from the back, but you don’t argue. Without your own mask and armor, you feel admittedly a little underdressed yourself, despite your long sleeves and trousers. But, as Meta Knight had pointed out, it isn’t _your_ reputation suffering.

“We weren’t even doing anything exciting,” you remark, covering your mouth in amusement as one child loudly shouts, _‘Yeah, Sir Meta Knight!’_ Knowing it will annoy him, you add, “Do they not know how to wolf-whistle?”

Meta Knight rubs his temples. “You’re not making this any better.” _Success_.

“I believe I’m expected to come to lunch,” you recall, noting that one of the boys in particular resembles the blond mother-daughter duo you met earlier. Well, at this point it’s only right that you drag Meta Knight along with you.

“With whom?” 

“Seemingly, some of the people taking care of Kirby. Memu and Fumu, and whoever their family members are.”

Despite the mask, you can practically see as Meta Knight’s face falls from irritation to resignation. “Ah, that’s right… Fumu mentioned that to me when she told me you were here.”

Your bright smile is all mirth. “Excellent. You’re going to introduce me to everyone.”

Meta Knight sighs, but you know he will not complain. You covertly squeeze his hand once more before you head to the path up the hill.

* * *

Life in the village is simultaneously both far more peaceful and hectic than you’re used to, though that’s hardly the village’s fault. The village is, for the most part, a terribly ordinary, quaint little thing, but you’re so much the oddity that you find yourself struggling to adjust. Though you handle most individual interactions without trouble -- that first lunch went well enough, and most of the villagers welcome you with open arms -- you find that actually living here is another thing entirely. You swing wildly between being overwhelmed, as _everything_ is loud and chaotic after the silent stillness of your prison, and being restless, the rural lifestyle here being far more sedate than the war you dedicated your life to. As a result, for the first few weeks or so, your disposition and temper are perhaps more erratic than you’d like to admit, and you sequester yourself inside Meta Knight’s house, waiting as the villagers quite generously build additions onto Kirby’s little cottage to make it suitable for you.

It is clearly strange, too, for Meta Knight to have you here, though he makes no overt mention of it, and takes on with grace the task of supporting you for a time. Besides allowing you into his home, he walks you about the village and the countryside to familiarize yourself, offering introductions and guidance about the locale. There is certainly a great deal of information he imparts to you aside from the matters of Pupu Village, too. You listen enraptured and at times pained as he informs you what happened in the years you were gone, the war and how it and your friends were lost -- you outright wince when he tells you about Jecra’s death, realizing your hopeless curse had landed far more harshly and accurately than you intended, and decide it would be needlessly cruel to expose Jecra’s role in your disappearance -- and he tells you about his squires and arrival to Pupu Village and who its inhabitants are, and finally, he tells you about Kirby and Nightmare. 

As for Kirby himself, he accepts you so readily that you almost feel ridiculous for how worried you were, though it does take him a bit more reassurance from Meta Knight to convince him that you’re alright even with when you're wearing your mask and armor. Now, well into your first spring in Dream Land, under the vibrant leaves and the changing stars, you can almost pretend the ordeal of your imprisonment never happened as you obligingly gather Kirby into your arms, heeding his outstretched hands and pleas of “Up! Up!” 

“Is this what you wanted?” you murmur, lightly bouncing Kirby in your arms as he squeals with delight. You carefully move your hair away from where it is in danger of being pinned between his weight resting against your chest and toss it over your shoulders. Kirby makes to grab after it, but you gently nudge his little hands away.

There is a certain appeal about this life, you must admit. Fireflies dance about, gracing the garden and surrounding fields with their light show, and an orange butterfly drifts lazily by. The aroma of spices and cooking food wafts through the open kitchen window, and you can hear Meta Knight, Sword, and Blade struggle to prepare the food without stumbling on top of each other in the confined space. You snicker at the clatter of kitchenware and exclamations of surprise, and you don’t need visual context to know that Meta Knight must be regretting his decision to act on Fumu’s suggestion of treating you to dinner for Mother’s Day. You’re surprised he even went along with it in the first place, though you suppose you appreciate it. Even as you’ve acclimated to Dream Land, you find you still prefer keeping to your cottage, refraining from mingling with the Cappies; Kirby, Meta Knight, Sword, and Blade are all you need to be content now, and dinner with them is with enough of a treat. It’s quite strange, actually, considering how people-oriented you were previous to your confinement.

“Din now?” Kirby asks, pointing at the kitchen window. “Din now?”

You look at him, your happy little child, at his small nose and ears, his cheerful smile, his eyes full of excitement. He’s made leaps and bounds in language acquisition since you’ve first arrived -- which you like to constantly, if flippantly, boast about to Meta Knight until you’re sure he’s sick to death of it -- though it’s just as likely a result of his age than your parenting. You still wonder, sometimes, at how Kirby was able to defeat Nightmare before he was able to even speak. Not even you were _that_ young when you took on your first major adventure. 

“ _Dinner_ ,” you correct. “They’re making us _dinner_ , yes.” 

“Now?” 

Luckily for Kirby, Sword chooses that moment to poke his head outside the cottage front door, and waves at where you’re sitting in the garden. The smell of food has become overwhelming. Hopefully Meta Knight had enough presence of mind while cooking to set aside a dish just for Kirby.

Still carrying Kirby, you stand up from the bench, stretching your wings lazily, taking care not to accidentally knock the butterfly out of the air with the tips of your feathers. Kirby claps and giggles, momentarily fascinated by your wings’ movement and wide breadth. You place a kiss on his forehead. “Yes, now, you little bug. Let’s go eat.” 

Kirby squeals again, almost in a cheer, as you leave the rising stars behind and bring him inside the threshold. With your child in your arms you face the friends you trust, and toast to the new life they’ve made with you and to whatever the future has in store. The war is over, and you are home, and you celebrate your tenure as mother that has just begun.


End file.
